


Unchained Melody

by ShatteredRhapsody



Series: The Lovegood Legacy [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse of Khuzdul, Alternate Universe, BAMF Hobbits, F/M, Families of Choice, Fixed the aging issue, Gen, Hobbits, I'll figure it out later, I'm shifting timelines, M/M, Minor Character Deaths, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Please read Drifting Through Time first!, Reincarnation, Secrets, Smaug-less Erebor, Song Inspired, This will be a VERY different Shire, barely canon, boatloads of OC's, dwarrows, gratuitous amounts of khuzdul, it really won't make that much sense without it, keep an eye out for them, tiny bits of canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 10:15:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 49,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3974347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatteredRhapsody/pseuds/ShatteredRhapsody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Very little was known to the Outside World of Hobbits. Knowledge of them was basic compared to the steadfast secretive nature of the Dwarves.</p><p>And that's just how the Hobbits liked it, but with dark times ahead, some secrets are meant to be revealed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Hobbit's Gamble](https://archiveofourown.org/works/842879) by [CQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CQueen/pseuds/CQueen). 



> Currently unbeta'd. Will go over to check for errors before the second chapter is up.

Act 1   
The Shire

* * *

 

Gorbadoc Brandybuck loved all his children dearly, but even he had to admit that he had an obvious favorite. It wasn’t an uncommon notion to have a favorite child; the families in the Shire tended to have quite a lot of children and managing them all always took a toll on the parents. Even with the age requirement to join the Bounders, they were still such a hassle. His oldest child just happened to mature at a much slower rate than the rest of his children. But what could one expect from a mixed breed of Hobbit and Dwarf?

Before he had gained the title as the Master of Buckland and before he became even remotely aware that Mirabella Took had a romantic interest in him, he was the best of the Bounders. He was a spry thirty-six year old with much to prove and it was whispered throughout the Shire that he would be the next legend after the great ‘Bullroarer Took’. Which was quite the compliment since the Brandybuck Clan was more aggressive than most. His family was fiercely loyal and a bit on the strict side, but they functioned well in Buckland.

It was no wonder that he gladly offered his aid to a caravan of Dwarrows seeking assistance with a goblin problem in the Blue Mountains. It was there he met Luella daughter of Lorís and one of the best warriors he had ever met on the battlefield. There was little time for romance in the middle of a bloodbath, but he was mesmerized by her grace and efficiency when it came to beheading goblins trying to stab her in the back. She was different from the other Dwarrows in the caravan in both appearance and mannerisms; she was also quite isolated amongst them despite her prowess with a blade. When he had inquired why to one of the others, he was given a gruff response that she was an abomination between races. A bit alarmed and altogether very curious, Gorbadoc asked for his companion to further explain how and why. At the older dwarf’s explanation, Gorbadoc’s eyebrows rose well into his hairline.

_“Well, now. That is an odd mix.”_

_“Aye. You cannae fault her for her parentage though. Luella is as strong as they come and she’s damn near the best fighter out of all of us, Elvish father or no._

Maybe that was why he was so dazzled by her. She was a slim dwarrowdam with hair a mixed shade of hay and a touch of starlight. Her bright blue eyes entranced him like no other and when he had expressed his wish to court her, he had been sent flying.

Literally.

There was nothing more foolish than a Brandybuck in love and Luella was impressed by his persistence to at least get to know her. That and he was a dab hand at crafting with leather; something she discovered when they stopped over at a tannery to resupply. He made intricate braided bridles for her pony and the saddle he had spent weeks on was the envy of all. When he had spoken of his people in his beloved Shire and his rowdy family in Buckland, she had pounced on him wishing to know more. Perhaps they could set up a trade agreement and both their lands could flourish from such an endeavor. When he had readily agreed to the idea, she was so excited that she had given him a celebratory head butt and promptly knocked him out.

When he came to, his head was on her lap and she was apologizing profusely while she ran anxious hands through the curls at his temple. He had reached for her then, a smile of love and acceptance as he sealed his lips to hers—

“Da!”

His second oldest, Rorimac, burst into the tavern and was shaking him so hard his ale spilled from his mug.

“What is it, my boy?”

“It’s Luna, Da. We were playing and then Camellia Sackville said—”

Gorbadoc sighed. Those Sackvilles always had something to say about his daughter and he was of half a mind to say something back.

“Is she hurt?” Despite being three decades older than Rorimac, Luna was closer in mental age to his third oldest Amaranth. The tween years were always hard on any parent of the Shire and for one who aged as slowly as his Luna, they had been especially trying.

“No, she’s alright. She’s at the old forge. She said she’ll be making something to settle her nerves.”

Of course that’s where she would go.  She wasn’t much for working with steel, but she used the fire from the forge to create other things. Her elaborate sculptures sold well on Market Day when the Dwarrows would come to sell their wares.

“I see. Make sure she gets home on time for supper. Your Ma doesn’t like it when she comes home dirty.”

“Yes, Da.”

He watched his oldest son depart and he felt an old stirring in his heart. While he was happy to have had so many children with his dear Mirabella, a part of him always wondered what kind of children he would have had with Luella if she had lived past Luna’s birth. Would they have been craftsmen, farmers, or warriors? Would they have more of his darker hair coloring or the spun silver like Luella’s?

“Master Gorbadoc! There are some dwarves here to see you about the next Market Day!”

He supposed he would never know, but he would always dream of the children he never had with his Love. _Enough moping, Gorba. You have work to do._ Her nagging tone echoed in his head and with his mind’s eye he could see her standing beside him, eyes stern and lips curled up in a smirk.

_Yes, dear._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the wonderful feedback leftover from Drifting Through Time. I'm excited that you all enjoyed that piece and I'm happy to bring you this as a follow up. Now if you remember, Drifting Through Time had a theme of using 'Word of the Day' from dictionary.com, so this fic also has its own theme. I've called it Unchained Melody since each chapter is a song title or a relation to music. When the story is finished, I'll post a list of where each song is from.


	2. Awake My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Much like she was in her previous life, Luna Magnolia Brandybuck—formerly Luna Lovegood—was a curious child._

Much like she was in her previous life, Luna Magnolia Brandybuck—formerly Luna Lovegood—was a curious child.

From the time she could walk, she toddled after her father everywhere he went. He was her whole world in this strangely familiar place and was so much like the father figures from her past life. He often shared stories of her late mother, so she would always know of her heritage and of where she came from. And he also shared with her everything that was on his mind; it was comforting to have someone able to understand his worries and fears. Despite coming from one of the largest families, they were one of the more reclusive hobbits in the Shire.

Today they were in the heart of Buckland: The Bounder’s Headquarters. Word on the Shire grapevine had it that Marmadoc ‘Masterbelt’ Brandybuck had plans to retire. The Master of Buckland wasn’t just a formal title, but it was an actual position of power. Most disputes could be settled amongst the hobbits on their land, but it wasn’t matters of hobbits that he Master of Buckland settled. It was the great hedge that grew on their borders that kept out the Old Forest. There had been whispers of late of more dangerous things than Huorns rumbling in the shadows of the Forest. And old ‘Masterbelt’ had predicted that he was either going to die being trampled by a tree or fighting off whatever was lurking beneath those dark boughs. 

It was why Gorbadoc would make his rounds at Headquarters to check on their supplies and the state of their armory. As per the usual, his daughter followed after him with one handed fisted at the hem of her father’s shirt and the other clinging to a lion stuffed animal.

“What are sorry state these axes are in,” Gorbadoc mumbled while he scribbled away on his notepad. “Good thing Market Day is coming up; we’re sure to find a Blacksmith or two discreet enough to fully inspect this for us, eh my dear?”

Luna blinked her big blue eyes up at her father and nodded solemnly. “Be peppered, Da.” Just because her speech was slow in progress didn’t mean her mind was. Such was the limitations of growing up all over again, but her father usually knew what she meant to say.

“Indeed. Although I do think some of the spears have held up well enough. I don’t recall their origin, but they’re just a tad too long so they might be of Man or Elvish make. Remind me to have your Uncle Orgulas draw a sketch so we can ask the Rangers if they know how to properly care for them.”

“Uncle Orgu draw,” she mentally filed it away and focused on the short swords that were next on the inspection list. _Letter openers,_ she chuckled internally and she curled her arm around her stuffed lion to brush her fingertips along the hilts. They wouldn’t do much damage against the Huorns, but if they were properly sharpened they could possibly kill the glowing eyes beyond the hedges.

It was why in the ten years since her birth and her mother’s death, her father worked relentlessly to open the market to their Dwarven neighbors in the Blue Mountains. He was fortunate enough that the few who vouched for the sincerity of his intent were the remaining Dwarves from the Caravan he had assisted when he had met her mother. It was the mention of his Dwobbit daughter that had many of the Dwarven Council scrambling to reach a compromise with his idea. Especially since the Hobbits had a ridiculously high fertility rate and were now obviously compatible enough to carry and deliver half Dwarf, half Hobbit children.

There were concerns, of course.

The Thain of Tookborough, the Baggins of Hobbiton, and the Mayor of Michel Delving received floods of letters and complaints from the Hobbits on their lands who were terrified that they were going to be used as brood mares and whisked away by the Dwarves. That particular hurdle was something Luna remembered quite vividly; she was seven at the time and was barely learning to use the words she was unable to voice. She sat on her father’s knee attempting to practice her letters while the roar of the heads of the main lands of the Shire thundered inside of Brandy Hall:

_“You want to put the lives of the good folk of the Shire at risk for some protection from one of the greediest races in Middle-Earth? Marmadoc, has your son lost his wits?!”_

_“My son can speak for himself you soft-footed—”_

_“Father, please!” Gorbadoc had his hands over his impressionable daughter’s ears while she ‘obliviously’ grinned up at her grandfather._

_“Thoft f’t, Gampa.”_

_“Greedy they may be, but you cannot believe that is all there is to them! Look at us,” Gerontius Took gestured towards the six of them seated at the table, “The Hobbits of the Shire are little more than farmers and vegetable contests.” The Took Clan was one of the major supporters of the Bounders since they were well aware of how severely weak hobbits seemed to the Big Folk._

_Mungo Baggins nodded in agreement. “Sorry Peter, but even we know that the weapons we have now would be useless against an outside threat and the Rangers that protect us can only spread their number along our borders for so far. And Marmadoc’s son is the only other hobbit outsides our kin in Bree who know about the integrity of the Dwarves. And it would be a smart move to try mixing in with them.”_

_“Do you hear yourself? You’re a Baggins! Where’s your sense of propriety here?! You want us to breed with their kind to create an…an abomination between races—”_

_Luna could feel her father’s hands on her ears tremble with anger, and her grandfather looked ready to break his chair over the head of the Mayor. But it was Mungo who came to their defense once more._

_“You know as well as I do that we can only breed so much between our clans before we can’t anymore! Yes, there are many of us, but how long until everyone is related? Have you forgotten exactly_ why _old Maggot’s Da had to breed his dogs from outside the Shire?”_

_“That’s not—”_

_The Old Took thumped his cane on the floor to gain their attention. He had thought long and hard about Gorbadoc’s idea to trade with the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains and although Gorba had experience fighting with them, Gerontius had the most experience dealing with them. He was not so old that he had forgotten when Dwarves would pass through the Shire searching for work and their quality had always been superb. They were a brutally honest kind of folk, but their hearts were in the right place. Greedy they may be, but what race wasn’t? He knew his Great Smial was highly coveted amongst the hobbits, but he wasn’t likely to give that up anytime soon. And Dwarves had no love for living under the rolling hills of the Shire; they preferred to carve out their living arrangements from stone and mountains. And with their female population so low, they wouldn’t dare mistreat a female match without serious repercussions. However this particular matter did seem almost too big for the small folk of the Shire…_

_“I say we give it a try. I’ll send a message to the Chieftan of the Rangers and one to Lord Elrond of Rivendell. I’m sure one of them will vouch for the sincerity of the Dwarves.”_

_Peter Potts, the Mayor of Michel Delving, huffed in his seat but knew when he was defeated. The Thain’s word was practically law and even he would not pursue an argument._

_Marmadoc chuckled under his breath and lifted his grandchild from her father’s arms. “When you do get into contact with them, Gerontius, can you arrange an escort for Luna and her father to travel to the Blue Mountains? Luna’s existence should be proof enough to satisfy the Dwarves that a union between a Dwarf and Hobbit is possible and that children are well taken care of and_ cherished.” _He bit out the last word with a low snarl in the Mayor’s direction. Mixed breed child she may be, but his granddaughter was of his blood and no one spoke of his kin as if they were a crime against nature._

_The Mayor predictably hunched his shoulders and winced in shame. If he spoke out of turn like that again, he would lose support of more than just the Master of Buckland, but also the Old Took as well. The three of them were always on thin ice when it came to each other to begin with, and the Mayor wanted to avoid any kind of trouble at all costs._

Luna blinked and came back to the present; her father was lifting her into his arms to carry her out of the armory. They were supposed to check on the pens next. There were ponies and war rams to inspect for poor health and then they would be on their way to the Training Arena to observe the training of the newest Bounders.

“Da?” She nuzzled her father’s cheek with her nose. “When my turn?”

“I know you want to learn how to fight, my dear girl. But maybe in a few years when your words develop better. Now we best finish our rounds or else you’ll be late to your lessons with Miss Donnammira. We still need to find your Craft.”

Finding one’s Craft was of high importance in the Dwarven culture and most tended to know what it was they wanted to do before they reached adulthood. Luna was no different except for that fact that she wanted to learn pretty much everything. She wanted to create things as well as fight and regain her skills as the warrior she used to be; that tended to be difficult when her body refused to keep up with her fast-developing mind.

_If I can’t even pick up a bow or sword by the time I’m thirty, I swear to Thrór that heads will roll._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point in time, Luna is around 10-12 years old. Peter Potts is a character that’s possibly made up—I say possibly because ‘Potts’ was the name of the supposed Mayor before Will Whitfoot took the position during the War of the Ring. This has been a struggle for me since I’m so used to writing in drabble format, but here’s to hoping that you all still enjoy it! Thank you for reading and please comment to let me know how you liked it. :)


	3. Little Talks

“There goes Loony Luna. It’s no wonder she doesn’t have any friends!”

 _Some things never change,_ Luna thought to herself while she trailed after her grandfather into Hobbiton. She already wanted to be back home in Brandybuck Hall with her cousins, but she knew how important it was for her to make the journey to the Blue Mountains. Her father would have been the best choice to go, but her grandfather had more experience with dwarrows and claimed he knew the best way to get their attention.

...knowing her grandfather it was either something very clever or very foolish.

_“You watch out for him, Gehyith. Your grandfather tends to be more rambunctious than most and he needs a strong soul to keep him in line.” Her father whispered into her ear during their last embrace before he sent her on her way to his father’s cart and pony._

_“I’ll do my best, Papa.”_

“Come along, my dear girl!” Marmadoc Brandybuck bellowed from his seat on the cart. “If this pony outruns you, I expect a dozen laps around the perimeter of Buckland when we get back!”

Luna groaned and picked up the pace. Her father didn’t want her training to become a Bounder until she was at least twenty-five winters, but her grandfather was still Master of Buckland and the Master’s word was as good as the law and if he wanted his oldest granddaughter to train to be better than the Dúnedain Rangers, then she was going to start when he said so. Although he might have gone a little overboard with the heavy bag of grain she balanced over her shoulders--she was getting flashbacks  of her old world’s Beorn and his ‘strength-training methods’ that involved lifting cows. Fighting back a shudder at the memories, she grit her teeth and did as her grandfather ordered.

Getting through to Michel Delving was going to be utter Hell with how much her family was disliked by the Mayor, who she still thought was an idiot of epic proportions. And if her past history taught her anything, it was that his successor was bound to follow in his idiotic footsteps. However, as foolish as it was, she had some hope that things would be different. This time around, she’d be there to watch Bilbo grow and he wouldn’t be the timid and lonely bachelor who had to go across Middle Earth to find himself. Actually, she was pretty sure that part still had to happen, but maybe he’d be less alone than before. She and her father had made great strides to improve their relations with the Took clan and she was becoming fast friends with Belladonna, who didn’t find her at all strange like the other hobbits did.

The two of them were thick as thieves and were constantly causing trouble between their borders. Just last spring, they tumbled out of a tree and startled the passing Elven delegation from Rivendell. They were the shame of the Shire, but the twin sons of Lord Elrond were not offended by their antics, for it was they who broke their fall with their stubborn, thick heads. Meeting the twin sons again brought an ache in Luna’s heart that she wasn’t entirely expecting; a part of her knew how hard it was going to be to see the faces of those she left behind while the souls within them did not know her. It was going to be quite hard, she told herself, to bury her past memories when she interacted with them all again. But past friendships could be re-forged into something new and better. It would just take patience and a caring heart; the latter she had in spades, but the former was a test unlike any other she had experienced in her combined hundred plus years of living.

There were still some nights that she woke up with a scream of agony ready to released from her lips; dreams that were so real she would have given everything she had to go back to them. She had made her bed and it was time she learned to lay in it. But how she missed her One! She often wondered if he would know as readily as he had before. Would he feel the earth beneath his feet tilt and watch the stars fade away until it was just the two of them once more? More often than not, she would catch herself weeping silently at her loss and only her hope that they would meet again kept her will to keep going strong. Sometimes it hurt that she had no one to confide in; no great, grumpy King to lend her aid in life experiences or a sword-sister to mope about with when she had no one to train with.

On the other hand, she had gained more than she would have thought possible. She had been fortunate to be born into the Brandybuck Clan and her father had begun to court Miss Mirabella Took. Based off of her past history with the hobbits, she knew very well that she was about to gain seven additional siblings in the coming twenty or so years if the current timeline stayed intact. She had never had siblings of her own before, she so was excited at the prospect of experiencing such a thing. Nevermind all the whining Ronald would do in her past life, but she would have greatly loved to have a brother or sister to bond with and care after. Maybe then someone else would be able to experience the Hell their grandfather would put upon them for Bounder training!

Speaking of Bounder training, that was the primary reason they were on their way to the Blue Mountains. The Elven delegation had been delighted to discover that the gentlefolk of the Shire were interested in bettering their homeland’s defenses, but weren’t all too helpful in the training department. They showed the hobbits how to use a bow and some very bare basics of swordplay, but the main problem was that they honestly weren’t sure how to handle the height differences. Centuries of living and that was the one thing that had them stumped. Elrohir had suggested the hobbits look to their closest neighbors who were of relatively equal size and stature. Their dealings with the dwarrow of the Iron Hills was mostly mediated through Lord Elrond, but they were too far to request aid for something so inconvenient. Marmadoc had jumped on that opportunity, borrowed one of the Lord Elrond’s messenger birds, then disappeared into Brandybuck Hall to await a reply. When the reply was given, he emerged with a cart loaded up with old chests that had seen better days along with some sacks filled with supplies. He wasted no time in snatching up his grandchild and declaring that they would be going out for a bit of a walk before his oldest son stepped in and demanded an explanation.

Luna had a vague idea of what her grandfather’s plan could possibly be, but she kept her theories to herself. Her grandfather was what Miss Mirabella referred to as an “odd duck” and that not even the other Heads of the Shire Clans weren’t quite sure how to deal with him and recommended just letting him have his way. He was more likely to voice what was on his mind during a one-on-one conversation anyway.

They passed through Michel Delving with little trouble. And by little, Luna meant she got into a tussle with a Chubb boy who threw a rock at their cart while her grandfather lapsed into old Hobbitish and proceeded to cuss out the Mayor for trying to delay their journey. Very few would openly oppose the Master of Buckland whether or not he was on his own land and even fewer would try to talk him down face to face.

……..

“We’re lost aren’t we?”

“My dear, we are _not_ lost.”

“If you say so, grandfather.” Luna leaned back against the cart and rolled her shoulders now that they were free of their previous burdens. By the Valar, but the tween years were taking a toll on her patience. The growth spurts were a pain due to her mixed heritage, but Brandybucks had a tendency to be on the tall side as both her father and grandfather stood at nearly four feet. And because of her odd height and appearance--odd by hobbit standards--she had made very few friends during a time of what was considered prime socializing time by hobbit society. _It figures,_ she sighed, _that I wouldn’t fit in over there._ It was a pity that she couldn’t become a recluse and avoid contact with the other clans of the Shire; there was no such thing as an antisocial hobbit. At least, not an _openly_ antisocial hobbit as there was one currently circling the outcrop of stone at the base of the mountain.

“Grandfather, I’m sure we can go back and ask directions from that nice--” she watched the elder hobbit reach out to touch the stone in front of them and felt lightning race up her spine. She didn’t know why she was grinning ear to ear, but her grandfather knew and gestured for her to come closer. Her knees hit the dirt when she was close enough and she could feel the vibrations from the mountain before her palms even reached the stone. “Grandfather, this is…”

“Yes, it is. Luna dear, have I ever told you about your great-great grandfather’s legacy?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long. I thought I could skip over things and it would work, but it kept driving me deeper into writer's block before I could be satisfied with it. Also, HAPPY HALLOWEEN!


	4. Dirty Hands and Dirty Paws

If Marmadoc had to be truly honest, their family’s legacy extended farther back from before The Wandering Days. Gordenhad Oldbuck had began it all with his stubbornness, something his entire clan had inherited in spades.

“As you know,” he began while eyeing the sword positions his only grandchild was practicing, “we Hobbits originated in the Vales of Anduin nearby the Misty Mountains and the Greenwood. When the _rot_ started to appear along the borders of the Wood, many of our folk decided to take their chances and travel west to Eriador, or the Shire as you know it. But our ancestor Gordenhad believed our kind could persevere and our clan continued to brave the dangers along the Anduin until the dangers pressed too close.”

“Is that why our family came after the Baggins and Tooks, Grandpa?”

“In a manner of speaking. By the time the rest of us crossed the Misty Mountains, we also brought a little extra with us. Erebor was still rather young, a mere mining community not yet in its prime, and a talented dam followed after our ancestor. She was impressed with his tenacity and motivation to improve the life for his clan and became his wife by the time the Thainship was granted to us Hobbits--”

“But that can’t be right! Bella says that her Da says that Bucca of Marish came first and that--”

“Oh, that. Oddly convenient the distant cousin of our Gordenhad was,” he continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted, “Bucca was wily enough to know how to brave the dangers of an untamed land. He was the only Hobbit with a head for plans and how to handle himself and our clan in a fight. By the time Gordenhad and the rest of our lot arrived in the Shire, he and his intended realized one very big problem with their courtship--along with those in a similar situation--and it was that they would live far longer than the average hobbit would. So Oldbuck and his bride founded Buckland and handed over the tile of Thain to the Tooks. And as for our name of ‘Brandybuck’ that was because--”

“I know, Grandfather,” Luna sighed with a roll of her eyes. Everyone knew how their ancestor chose the name what with settling by the Brandywine River; it faintly felt of home after their people had left the Anduin.

“Don’t you sass me, young lady. That was merely the introduction to the start of our legacy. Our ancestor and his dam sired many children; all ‘Dwobbits’ just like yourself. And of his youngest children came my grandfather--don’t you dare open your mouth, I know what you’re about to say--Gormadoc. He had earned his title as ‘Deepdelver’ because had better Stone Sense than the rest of his siblings. He was the one to excavate Oldbuck Hall while his siblings built Brandy Hall hence the epithet given to him when he chose to inherit the title of Master.” Considering their clan tended to produce many children, the ‘Master of Buckland’ only became the Master if he so chose to be; otherwise it would be offered to the next in line.

“Now just as his father did, he also chose a dam to be his bride. Grandmother Malva would have loved to have met you, my dear girl. The two of you are so alike in mannerisms and appearance. You’ve got her nose, did you know? Very subtle dwarvish trait we’ve all inherited. It was particularly strong in their three children, one of which was my father, Madoc. I’ll tell you, but it wasn’t his Craft, or lack thereof, that got him his bride who was--”

“--Is there a dam in every generation of our family?”

“Just about. My Ma, Hanna Goldworthy was a true sight to behold. A bold and cunning lass from the Iron Hills, she met my father when he volunteered to aid the Dwarves after they experienced a poor harvest and I don’t know about you, but Dwarves are not the best of farmers. I’m not sure if my father chose to help because he felt the call of his One or simply because he felt it was the right thing to do. Either way, I would not be here, nor your father, nor you, if not for that decision. Excluding your late grandmother,” he wasn’t entirely sure since he knew the Bolgers tended to be massive flirts with anything with a heartbeat and eyes, “there has been at least one dam in our family at a time, so whatever buried talents each one of us has, it is because we are Dwobbits, my dear. We are just like you.”

Luna’s mind was blown the second he even mentioned their Dwarvish heritage. This certainly explained just _why_ they were barely a part of the Shire. Hobbits only lived to be at least eighty years old and any longer than that would attribute to good health and a heaping dose of good fortune. One of the other Clans had to know; there was no way they wouldn’t suspect a thing!

“Grandfather, do the Tooks know?”

“Oh, aye, of course they know. They’d have to be deaf, blind, and dumb not to. Gerontius has always known; after all, he is one hundred and twenty-three years my junior, and I wouldn’t doubt if he hasn’t noticed just how slowly I’ve aged over the years. The Baggins have an inkling, but they wouldn’t dare voice it. We’re already too strange and different-minded for them to fully comprehend the truth. But there are stranger truths than our family.”

“Stranger how?” She really didn’t think it could get much stranger than that.

“Well, how about _you_ for example?” 

Luna’s breath stopped in her chest and she struggled not to let her back stiffen in shock. “I...I’m not sure I know what you mean, Grandfather.”

“Come now, Azaghîth,” he barked with laughter, “Surely, you don’t think I haven’t noticed? Your eyes are older than even my own and you are far too fearless to have come from my blood alone. Are you a Changeling, then? A Fae child from the Tooks’ legends and lore?”

Oh, Luna did not like that look in her grandfather’s eyes. He was onto her and she really, really, _really_ did not like lying to family.

“I’m afraid it’s much more different than that, azaghâl belkul.”

“Is it now? Well, I’ve told you my story and I do believe it’s time you told me yours.”

She told him nearly everything. 

Her original birth, how she once was a magical being who could travel between worlds at magic’s whim. The friends she had made and the loved ones she had lost. She told him of how she found her One and how much she had sacrificed just to try it all over again.

“...I was much closer to the Baggins than the Tooks or even the Brandybucks. But all the families of the Shire were always kind to me and made sure I always felt welcome to spend more time with them. Maybe that’s why I was reborn as one of your kin? I seem to be the happiest in Buckland.”

“Well, that and you’re certainly the most reckless besides myself and your Da. Naturally, you’d fit right in. But what a sad tale you have shared. To have found your One and have it all quite literally ripped away from you. Such strength you have! And you said that you have Guides in this world, but they were not revealed to you before you started over?”

“No,” Luna sighed and rested her head on her grandfather’s shoulder, “that’s the worst part! I don’t know who would remember me or even _if_ they can remember me at all,” she felt tears gathering in her eyes and she sniffled a bit. “I’ve never felt more lost than the time I had to guide King Thrór to Aulë's Halls. The line of Durin has no sense of direction--”

Marmadoc threw his head back and laughed before slapping his granddaughter on the back good naturedly. “My dear, you do realize that technically we are also descended from the line of Durin? My mother came from the Iron Hills, you see.” He tapped the side of his nose with his index finger and he ducked when his unruly grandchild threw an apple at him.

“Hey now, don’t go wasting the traveling rations!”

“Save me from the stubbornness of Dwarves,” she grumbled under her breath and went to retrieve the apple she had carelessly thrown.

“I wouldn’t get into too much of a snit if I were you. We are rather close to New Belegost and we don’t want to offend anyone. Maybe we’ll find someone who remembers you.”

“I doubt it. I really don’t recall much about this area during my visits to Middle Earth. Geographical history wasn’t something I was particularly interested in.”

 

.............

New Belegost was carved from the side of the mountain, rather than almost completely under it like its prior location and the guards stationed at the entrance did look rather intimidating. She hoped her grandfather knew what he was doing since she didn’t really recognize these dwarrows from her trips to Market Day--

“Good day, fine sir! Do you happen to know if the visiting Lord from Erebor is still in town?”

Luna almost fell out of the cart. That really wasn’t the best of ways to approach a guardsman based off her prior knowledge of having to deal with them in her past life.

“Oh, aye. He’s here alright. Who is requesting his presence?”

Her grandfather grinned and it was all teeth before he bowed with a flourish. “Marmadoc Brandybuck, Master of Buckland, at your service.”

The guardsman’s eyebrows nearly rose to his hairline before he grunted and bowed respectfully in return. “You gave me quite the surprise, Master Brandybuck. You look the same as you did forty years ago and I had assumed that hobbits aged quickly during that time.”

“It’s alright Arvûl, she knows.”

Arvûl, the intimidating guardsman, let his shoulders drop in relief and a sheepish grin peeked out from under his beard. “Och, well. I had to make sure. We’ve been keepin’ this a secret since her birth.”

Luna could feel her eye beginning to twitch. She had patience for several lifetimes, yes, but this was starting to push her limits. _What, does_ everyone _know?_

Marmadoc gave his old friend a dismissive wave and smiled. “I have business with some folk in town. Would you be so kind as to escort Luna to the visiting Lord? She wishes to know more of our kin’s culture.”

 _He’s knows something,_ Luna thought to herself while keeping a straight face. Oh, but if looks could kill… Her grandfather knew far more than he should have and he had also been too accepting of her story. That, and as Arvûl led her away, her grandfather’s conspiratorial grin and accompanied wink only increased her ire against him.

She was brought to a grand hall and then further into what she assumed was a receiving room of some kind. It was hardly luxurious, but it was comforting all the same. The guardsman let her know that the Lord was currently in a meeting, but he would come to speak with her as soon as he finished.

“That’s alright. I’m sure I’ll find something to amuse myself with…” she trailed off as her eyes caught sight of a large tapestry hung from across the door. _Oh,_ her heart stuttered in her chest, _this is a sight._

It was a map of Middle-Earth and it showed mostly just the Dwarven settlements, but what caught her attention the most was the attention to the detail of each Dwarven city; especially Erebor. She didn’t even hear the guard excuse himself nor the door that closed behind him. She reached out and traced the stitching that spelt out _Ered Luin_ , past the Shire, and further east to the Misty Mountains.

She hadn’t even realized she had been humming an old tune that would not exist in this lifetime. It was becoming harder to breathe and her eyesight grew hazy with tears. She had not heard or spoken of the old song; not since she left her old world behind and harassed every verse out of a tipsy Glóin.

Her heart heavy, she began to sing quietly:

 _Far over the misty mountains cold_  
_To dungeons deep, and caverns old_  
_We must away ere break of day  
_ _To seek the pale enchanted gold._

Her hand still traveled slowly until it settled just over the Lonely Mountain and she gripped the fabric of the tapestry in a fist.

 _The dwarves of yore made mighty spells_  
_While hammers fell like ringing bells_  
_In places deep, where dark things sleep_  
_In hollow halls beneath the fells._

Oh, how she could remember playing in those halls as a young witch filled with the excitement of the world around her.

 _For ancient king and elvish lord,_  
_There many a gleaming golden hoard_  
_They shaped and wrought, and light they caught  
_ _To hide in gems on hilt of sword._

The first time she met Thorin before he had gained his epithet, she must have shocked the life out of him to just appear and disappear out of the blue like that. How she missed Thrór and his family! There was a time when so many exceptions were made for her; very few could claim the right to sit on the mighty King Thrór’s lap and hide their head under his beard. 

 _On silver necklaces they strung_  
_The flowering stars, on crowns they hung_  
_The dragon-fire, in twisted wire  
_ _They meshed the light of moon and sun._

She could have saved so many if she had only known how. Why, she would have gladly fought down the dragon if it meant sparing her loved ones the pain. Unfortunately, even she knew that if Smaug had not come, she would not have met her other friends across Middle Earth.

 _Far over the misty mountains cold_  
_To dungeons deep and caverns old_  
_We must away, ere break of day,  
_ _To claim our long-forgotten gold._

“Now, there’s a song I never thought I would hear again. At least not in this world, as changed as it is.” A soft voice spoke from behind her and her heart leapt up into her throat.

Reluctantly, she released her hold on the tapestry and turned to see a Dwarf she had not seen in nearly an Age.

“Hopefully,” she cleared her throat to suppress her rising sobs, “Hopefully, there will never be a cause for it to be sung with so much longing.”

“Aye, that is a thing to hope for. You know, lassie, you’re much shorter and younger than when I saw you last.” His kind eyes crinkled at the corners, much like his son’s eyes would do the same.

“W-Well, you were also d-dead at the time, s-so it’s safe to assume that your m-memory is shoddy,” she gave a watery chuckle before her expression crumpled and she ran into his waiting arms.

“ _Fundin!_ ”

* * *

 

 

The remainder of The Misty Mountains Cold lyrics:

_Goblets they carved there for themselves_  
_And harps of gold; where no man delves_  
_There lay they long, and many a song_  
_Was sung unheard by men or elves._  
  
_The pines were roaring on the height,_  
_The winds were moaning in the night._  
_The fire was red, it flaming spread;_  
_The trees like torches blazed with light._  
  
_The bells were ringing in the dale_  
_And men looked up with faces pale;_  
_Then dragon's ire more fierce than fire_  
_Laid low their towers and houses frail._  
  
_The mountain smoked beneath the moon;_  
_The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom._  
_They fled their hall to dying fall_  
_Beneath his feet, beneath the moon._  
  
_Far over the misty mountains grim_  
_To dungeons deep and caverns dim_  
_We must away, ere break of day,_  
_To win our harps and gold from him_

_The wind was on the withered heath,_  
_But in the forest stirred no leaf:_  
_There shadows lay by night and day,_  
_And dark things silent crept beneath._

_The wind came down from mountains cold,_  
_And like a tide it roared and rolled._  
_The branches groaned, the forest moaned,_  
_And leaves were laid upon the mould._

_The wind went on from West to East;_  
_All movement in the forest ceased._  
_But shrill and harsh across the marsh_  
_Its whistling voices were released._

_The grasses hissed, their tassels bent,_  
_The reeds were rattling, on it went._  
_O'er shaken pool under heavens cool,_  
_Where racing clouds were torn and rent._

_It passed the Lonely Mountain bare,_  
_And swept above the dragon's lair:_  
_There black and dark lay boulders stark,_  
_And flying smoke was in the air._

_It left the world and took its flight_  
_Over the wide seas of the night._  
_The moon set sail upon the gale,_  
_And stars were fanned to leaping light._

_Under the Mountain dark and tall_  
_The King has come unto his hall!_  
_His foe is dead, the Worm of Dread,_  
_And ever so his foes shall fall!_

_The sword is sharp, the spear is long,_  
_The arrow swift, the Gate is strong;_  
_The heart is bold that looks on gold;_  
_The dwarves no more shall suffer wrong._

_The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,_  
_While hammers fell like ringing bells_  
_In places deep, where dark things sleep,_  
_In hollow halls beneath the fells._

_On silver necklaces they strung_  
_The light of stars, on crowns they hung_  
_The dragon-fire, from twisted wire_  
_The melody of harps they wrung._

_The mountain throne once more is freed!_  
_O! Wandering folk, the summons heed!_  
_Come haste! Come haste! Across the waste!_  
_The king of friend and kin has need._

_Now we call over the mountains cold,_  
_'Come back unto the caverns old!'_  
_Here at the Gates the king awaits,_  
_His hands are rich with gems and gold._

_The king has come unto his hall_  
_Under the Mountain dark and tall._  
_The Worm of Dread is slain and dead,_  
_And ever so our foes shall fall!_

_Farewell we call to hearth and hall,_  
_Though wind may blow and rain may fall,_  
_We must away, ere break of day_  
_Far over the wood and mountain tall._

_To Rivendell, where Elves yet dwell_  
_In glades beneath the misty fell._  
_Through moor and waste we ride in haste_  
_And whither then we cannot tell._

_With foes ahead, behind us dread,_  
_Beneath the sky shall be our bed,_  
_Until at last our toil be passed,_  
_Our journey done, our errand sped._

_We must away! We must away!_  
_We ride before the break of day!_

 

 

Also, if you would like to listen to the full version of The Misty Mountains Cold song, it can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LY0lLcz3Qis)

Translations:  
Azaghîth -Little warrior  
azaghâl belkul -mighty warrior

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been clawing it's way out of me ever since I finally came up with a mostly stable plot for this fic and goddammit but I keep almost making myself cry.
> 
> Belated Happy New Years, my friends.


	5. Home Sweet Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Dwobbit and a Dwarf walk into a tavern....

“There, now. Dry your tears, _madtithbirzul._ ” 

Fundin would never admit to how much his own hands shook when he opened the receiving room doors after hearing a forgotten song echoing down the hall. Just like now, he would rather eat hot coals than admit how dreadfully alone he felt despite being alive and able to see his family grow up this time around. Some days it grew harder not to say all the things that were on his mind, yet he refrained in order to keep the peace.

But this little lass… 

She clung to him in desperation while sobbing as if her whole world had just righted itself. It wouldn’t be too far from the truth; after all, he was filled with just as much relief when she replied in recognition to his words.

“Hush, child. That’s enough tears for today,” he cradled her as closely as he had done with his own sons and rocked her gently until her sobs tapered off into watery hiccups. 

 _“I’m so sorry,”_ she kept signing in _iglishmêk_ since she was still too upset to use her own voice. 

Fundin felt his heart fill with tenderness and sat them down on a chair. He covered her wee hands with his own to stop her from signing and leaned until his forehead met hers. 

“Do not ever be sorry for the great things you have done and the terrible things you have had to endure,” he waited patiently until she opened her eyes to look at him and nod as if to accept his words. 

“You Durins,” she laughed softly, “smooth talkers the lot of you.” She coughed and rested her head upon his shoulder. “It’s been so hard, you know,” her voice was as small as she felt, “I’ve been wanting to search for my old family but no one remembers me.” 

“Aye, I can believe that. I wasn’t even sure _you_ would be here when I was also reborn.” He idly finger combed her hair. It was just as long as he remembered and he briefly wondered why she no longer wore her familial braids before realizing it wouldn’t make any sense for her to do so in this time. 

“Have...Have you met any others?” _Who also remember me?_ went unsaid because she honestly could not ask it of him. This was overwhelming enough for the both of them. 

“My cousins have given me no inclination that they remember their past lives, but Thrór did show some promise. After claiming the Arkenstone as his right to rule, he did not covet it as intensely as his previous self. Perhaps the lack of a dragon in his mountain may have aided this change in personality.” That had to be one of the more surprising lack of events in his life thus far. He had honestly thought the dragon would come and leave them homeless once more but so far...Balin’s monthly reports on the state of the mountain left him with no cause for concern. Was this what his friend’s sacrifice had earned them all? 

“They’re _all_ _alive?_ ” 

“Mostly all. The Battle of Azanulbizar still took place.” At her incredulous look, he held his hands up as a gesture of peace, “I know, I know. I was surprised despite how loudly others and myself protested against it. Dáin is Lord of the Iron Hills once more and his advisors are as imbecilic as I recall they were for his father. And Thorin is next in line to be crowned King Under the Mountain. Thrór did not--lass, I don’t think Thrór was meant to live past the battle in any lifetime.” He ended sadly and gave her a quick hug, “If it makes you feel any better, I am certain he remembered your tips on how to thoroughly torment King Thranduil during important meetings. He always did look far too smug for his own good whenever a messenger would announce the Elven King’s arrival.” 

“He looked just past Thranduil’s head when speaking to him, didn’t he?” Luna snorted at how she had discovered that particular pet peeve of the Elven King’s and the childish glee on Thrór’s face when she had shared that piece of information with him. 

“Aye. You could cut the tension with a knife during the meetings.” Fundin chuckled at just how high the mountain’s anxiety ran during those times. Prince Thráin would beside himself with frustration at his father’s antics and if one Prince was flustered, the entire mountain would be flustered. 

A combination of a sob and a laugh escaped from her and she groaned at the oncoming headache. “I need an ale for this kind of stress,” she rubbed at her face with her hands. “I feel so much older than I am, Fundin.” 

“Speaking of old,” Fundin gave her a long stare, “how old are ye right right now?” 

She cracked a grin, “You sly dog. As if having two sons wasn’t enough for you,” she joked and teasingly stroked his beard. She waited until there was nearly steam coming out of his ears before she relented, “I’m past the Hobbit majority in Hobbit years, but I’d say I’m just barely out of dwarfling adolescence.” 

“Good enough, you shameless hussy. Let’s go get that ale.”

 

….

 

When his granddaughter said she had a past, she certainly wasn’t jesting. Marmadoc leaned against the door frame and held a hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter.

 Lord Fundin and his dear Little Luna were sitting _on the table_ with what appeared to be an armada of empty ale mugs surrounding them. The two of them were drunkenly caterwauling what could have possibly been an old Dwarvish Tale, but the _khuzdul_ they were trying to speak was so broken and slurred that, according to Marmadoc’s vast memory, they were actually praising the mammaries of their ancestors. 

“Grandfather!” Luna widely swung her ale mug around and nearly took off Fundin’s head with it. “Och, sorry that,” she giggled and shakily got to her feet. “Lord Fundin and I are rem-remi-reminisching about the good ol’ days from the--och, _mahumb_ .” She swore when she tripped over a mug and landed on her back. She let out the equivalent of “for fucks sake” in _khuzdul_ and got smacked about the face by an irate Fundin. 

“Language, lassie! The elderly and their _delicate sensibilities_ are out and about.” He added with a sneer to the Master of Buckland and started laughing uproariously when said Master decided to join them. 

“Ye call this ale ye _:filthy sack of orc dung!:_ Oh, I’ll drink the both of ye under the table!” Internally, he knew he should not have let the Old Hobbitish slip, but in the company of his mother’s kin, his accent and common decency tended to escape him. 

Luna laughed heartily as the world swam around her in a drunken blur. Oh, it was good to feel at peace again; even if it was just for the moment.

 

 

 _Hangovers, no matter when they happen, are always murderously agonizing,_ Luna thought to herself when she awoke feeling like she had drank a lake full of ale. “I’m going to throw up,” she mumbled into the belly of which her face was laying upon.

What really came out was “muh-guh-a-row-muh” and she got swatted on the back of the head, which really sent her world spinning. 

“That’s mah _amad_ you’re insultin’!” Came the drunken slurring of her grandfather and just the sound of his voice grated on her tender hearing. 

“I din’na know ye still had in in ya, boy.” Wheezed a bleary-eyed Fundin who was weighted down by the Dwobbit on his belly. “Thought ye had forgotten all yer _khuzdul_ since ya ne’er speak it anymore.” 

“I’ll have you know that I _-hic-_ learned all the rules to secrecy from your lot! The other Hobbits are _not ready_ to know how much longer we’ve been alive than them!” Marmadoc instantly regretted raising his voice judging by how suddenly nauseous he had become. 

“Is tha’ why ye shave yer beard so they don’t notice? You didn’a think I was blind, did ye?” A drunk Dwarven lord he may have been, but Fundin wasn’t Erebor’s sharpest advisor for nothing. 

“My wife liked my beard, did ye know?” Marmadoc frowned and pulled the mug that was sticking into his back. “ _Amad,_ would have loved Luna, don’t ye think?” He mused while his breathing began to deepen. 

“Aye, ‘tis hard not to love such a brave lassie--Ouch!” he leaned over to pinch at her cheeks and got bit for his troubles. “Mahal’s hammer and forge,” he groaned, “you’re a Durin alright.”

* * *

**Translations:**

_madtithbirzul -little golden heart_  
_mahumb -dung_ _  
_ amad -mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just to tide us all over for the chapter that’s coming next. Don’t worry, it’ll be a lot longer and we’ll finally start progressing into the main storyline. The Hobbits need their time in the limelight, don’t you think?


	6. Counting Stars

 

Luna spent the most of her two weeks in New Belegost with her grandfather and old friend. There was just so much to catch up on since Fundin knew more about the changes in this world than she did. Sure, a lot of the ‘spending time’ was spent in the tavern or yelling over each other in the forge, but Luna wouldn’t trade those moments for anything. She even got to see their Raven Aviary and was more than delighted to find out that many of them had come from Erebor.

“Oh, Fundin! Can I keep this one, please!” She turned the full force of her doe eyes on him while she held a young magpie to her chest. She felt a connection with the bird and said bird was already fluttering its wings about in excitement.

“I don’t see why not.  I’m not really sure how or why a magpie would choose to roost here, but maybe it is a sign that ye were meant to come. And it’s good to have a messenger bird of your own; she seems to be a smart one. Don’t forget to give her a name though.” His eyes held suspicion on the bird since it would consistently avoid any dwarf that would approach it and would only take food after all the other ravens had fed.

Luna let the magpie rest on her palm and she stared deep into its knowing eyes. “I think I will call you Mags,” she said and chuckled when it pressed its head to hers, “Yes. Mags the Magpie suits you very well.”

“Shall I...leave the two of you alone?” Marmadoc said teasingly and chuckled when his grandchild swatted at his arm.

“Hush, you! We need more Ravens and the like; it’ll make communicating the trade routes easier.” Luna had big plans for the future and she wanted to thoroughly enjoy her lifetime in this altered world.

Her grandfather’s stare was even and steady as he watched her greet the other birds in the aviary; they all seemed to enjoy her company. His eyes met with Fundin’s and a slight incline of his head had them stepping back to talk.

“You know, old friend, I wouldn’t put it past that girl to have a finger in every pie on Middle Earth. Did you know there hasn’t been a Mistress of Buckland in nearly an Age?”

“Aye, and she could easily do it too!” Fundin chuckled and clued the Master in the sheer level of Luna’s intelligence based off of what he observed in the the afterlife during her time in their previous world. He explained how she was a social creature who was almost scarily observant and had a knack for convenient chaos. Things she had planned in advance more or less turned out well in their favor and ensured many a victory for her allies. Speaking of allies, it gave him a rather interesting idea.

“You know, Alfrigg is due for a visit soon and is looking for an apprentice to carry on his arts.” Fundin gleefully watched as the Master of Buckland became thoughtful before grinning devilishly. Alfrigg, son of Alfrothul, was a Dwarf renowned for being both a Master in the forge and on the battlefield. He was patient, meticulous, and usually a kind and gentledwarf. He didn’t needlessly seek out a fight, but given the right cause, he was devastating in battle. His personality easily matched that of Luna’s and they both knew that if she could gain her Mastery early, they’d be better prepared for what was to come. To be fair, even they were unsure if history in this world would match that of the history from Fundin’s previous life; so many events had already been altered even though a select few remained the same.

It was better for them to be prepared for the unexpected than not at all.

* * *

 

It was decided that Luna remain in New Belegost to await the arrival of Master Alfrigg and during that wait, she would assist the current Dwarrows in residence with whatever they could teach her.  She spent her mornings tending to the animals usually by starting with milking the goats and feeding the ponies. The Ravens could feed themselves, but she always made it a point to visit the aviary before lunch time so she could send a letter home to her father. Oh, how she knew how livid he must have been when her grandfather returned to Buckland alone and it showed in his first letter to her. Thank the Gods that Howlers didn’t exist in this world, otherwise her ears would have blistered from the amount of rage that flowed from his words on the parchment. None of it was directed at her, of course, most of it was directed at her grandfather who seemed hell-bent on doing whatever he damn well pleased. Not too surprising as he was still the current Master of Buckland and tended to answer to no one; not even his own family.

Her afternoons were spent brushing up on her khuzdul with Miss Ravit, who was also teaching her how to braid and the different meanings behind each type of braid. “Most braids,” she had said during one lesson, “are a variation of a family’s signature braid style rather than the clan they had come from. The clan style braids tend to be hidden unless the wearer found it necessary to reveal it.” She really enjoyed her lessons with Miss Ravit and she learned so much more than Dwarven History; Miss Ravit was a retired Spy Master from the Iron Hills and occasionally taught her the tricks of the trade.

Hobbits were already quite light on their feet, but the Brandybucks were even more so being descended from the Stoor riverfolk. She learned how to be silent over any type of terrain, which she used to her advantage when she would swipe sweet rolls from the kitchens. Her favorite lessons so far were the one-on-one spars with Fundin.

She could see where his sons earned their prowess with multiple types of weaponry and, with Miss Ravit’s training, she fought dirty. Any opening that was given to her, she would take full advantage of and even Fundin grudgingly agreed that it was scarily effective after the hilt of her sword collided with his shin after he had knocked her down.

“Durin’s beard, child. I’d say ye already know how to fight well enough to hold yer own in a battle,” he said with a glare when she laughed at his wince from the pain that had erupted from the blow to his leg. “My sons would not enjoy fighting against ye, I’ll ya that much.”

“Or maybe you’re just getting old,” she said with a grin.

“Children these days,” Fundin sighed, “so disrespectful. Yer buying me a pint at the tavern after supper. We have a lot to discuss for the next coming years.”

* * *

Her new life living amongst the dwarrows was more or less the same routine. She had discovered quickly that she had little talent in forging weaponry, but she had a keen eye for mining and pinpointing the location of precious gems and minerals. Fundin had said it made sense since the Dwobbit descendents of her ancestor had found their Mastery in either Mining or as Scriveners. Whenever he had free time, he would go over the Durin family tree with her and they both discovered, to Luna’s disappointment and Fundin’s immense relief, that she held very little chance of ascending to the throne.

“Unless the Fíli in this world is still my One as in the last world,” she said in a sing-song tone and Fundin shuddered at the thought. If the two of them ever got a chance to rule, they’d throw the mountain into utter chaos. He quickly changed the topic and continued his lessons on Dwarven culture. He taught her how to carve a general shape for the beads she would wear in her hair as her apprenticeship began, as well as forge beads to show she was descended from the House of Durin. They had mutually decided to hide the beads within her larger braids so they could be revealed at an opportune moment. For now, she would just be one of the many Dwarf/Hobbit hybrids who enjoyed the company and culture of her kin. And that meant getting severely hammered from ale every night and sparring with Fundin until she got him to yield.

By the time Master Alfrigg arrived in New Belegost, there was little else that Luna’s instructors had left to teach her. Fundin often wondered why he hadn’t just apprenticed her to himself and saved them time from waiting on another Master to assist them. Although it would be beneficial for Luna to have a bit of a review; there was no doubt she wouldn’t gain a Mastery in crafting jewelry or forging weapons, but the Scribes in their mountain all but sang her praises whenever they reviewed her work. Her own ancestry and family history had been painstakingly written and stored in the Scriviner Guild’s private Archive as it was a precious piece of history that only strengthened their alliance with the Brandybuck Clan of Buckland.

“She has easily gained her Mastery between the two of us,” Miss Ravit argued while a drunk Luna snoozed on her lap.

“Aye, but there are rules tha’ must be followed. Ye know that,” replied Fundin even though he knew she was right.

“Everyone here would vouch for her. She has talent and status so why don’t we just induct her to the Scrivener Guild and say she’s an apprentice under me for Spy Mastery? Master Alfrigg still hasn’t heard of our idea, so his word would mean very little in these circumstances. She’s even been personally trained by the Chieftan of the Dúnedain _before_ she came here! It’s all but expected of her to have a Mastery by now!”

Wincing by the raised pitch in his Spy Master’s tone, Fundin conceded defeat. “I’ll speak to the Head of the Scrivener Guild on the morrow.”

“As if you didn’t already have her Mastery bead forged and the papers ready. I saw you earlier,” Miss Ravit grinned and laughed at the flush of red on his face that had nothing to do with the ale they were drinking.

“Damn Spy Master,” he growled.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next are most likely going to stay as little time skips. I'm super excited to be writing again and thank you all so much for waiting for this update!


	7. Fantasia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did mention a time skip in the previous chapter, so here’s a little bit more since I don’t think either of us would enjoy a giant filler chapter.

“When can I learn to write in khuzdul?”

Luna looked up from the project on her desk to her younger brother, Rorimac, who pouted down at his own desk. He was twelve years old and absolutely hated not knowing as much as his elder sister did.

“In time, nadadith. Even I’ll admit that learning to write khuzdul was difficult, but Uncle Fundin insisted I learn the language before the letters first.”

Oh, how she loved having siblings in this world. She could easily see how the Rorimac received his epithet “Goldfather” in her previous life. It seemed he had inherited their great grandmother’s coloring in hair; while hers was closer to that of an Elvish platinum blonde, his was that of dazzling golden blond. It reminded her of her One’s hair when it was caught in a stream of sunlight.

“Why couldn’t you have just brought back the tome of our Clan history from New Belegost if you’re already working on the common tongue version? I bet I could learn it then.” Rorimac’s pout and large green eyes made him look all the more childish, and Luna found herself understanding just what Fred and George meant about the whining of younger brothers.

“Because that was a true treasure that I could not bear to bring on the road with me. How about this, I’ll talk with adad and Mama Mira about when to start your written lessons? I cannot guarantee that they will agree--oof!” It’s a good thing she had set down her pen and scooted her chair back from her work desk because she suddenly had an armful of faunt.

“Thank you, thank you, sister!” He nuzzled his nose and against her cheek and squeezed his little arms tight around her torso. “I can’t wait to tell Amaranth!” Quick as rabbit, he was out of her arms and out the door.

_Oh bother._

Amaranth was only ten and was much more interested in playing outdoors than being cooped up inside to study. This was not going to go over well if she was given the idea that all his fun time would be stamped out by study time.

Sighing heavily, she looked back at the nearly completed book and ran her finger along the cover’s spine. She had intended to sew in the title rather than paint it, but now her mind was on other things like overly excited fauntlings. She stood from her work desk and covered the unfinished work with a thin linen cloth before heading out of the den and into the kitchen.

  

“Mama Mira? Do you need any help with anything?”

“Oh, bless you, darling! I can’t seem to reach the casserole dish on the top shelf. I considered getting a stool, but you know how your father is with my condition,” Mirabella Took had never been more grateful that her husband’s eldest child was taller than the average hobbit. She was always such a sweet and considerate child despite her wild ways and un-hobbitish mannerisms. And she was certainly very gifted with children with how tenderly she treated her half-siblings; Luna was truly a blessing in times like now when Mira felt as big as a house.

“Well you are carrying his fourth son, you know.” She retrieved the dish with ease and set it down on the kitchen counter. “Come and sit, Ma. I’ll finish this up for you.”

“It’s no reason for him to treat me like I’m made of lace! I’m not some ninny Bracegirdle, humph!” Mira took the offered seat and sighed contentedly as she watched her daughter flit to and fro to finish the cooking.

“Tooks are rather hardy folk and are constantly underestimated,” agreed Luna while she checked the oven’s temperature before gently laying the casserole dish onto the rack.

“Well, you’d certainly know more about that than I. Belladonna sent a package for you, by the way. I’m sure she would have delivered herself, but she has her hands full with Bilbo now.”

“Oh, dear. Don’t tell me he’s still insistent on traveling outside the Shire on his lonesome? That’s dangerous even for me to do,” she said with a frown. Even a Captain of the Bounders knew better than to travel alone unless it was absolutely necessary.

“No doubt that cousin of yours hasn’t even gone through his lessons in basic camping and survival due to the Baggins’ side thinking he’ll have no use for it.” It was a trying topic that three of them, Belladonna, Mirabella, and Luna, had often discussed.

“He’s going to need those lessons if he even thinks he’ll make it passed Tookborough,” Luna grumbled before grabbing a chair to sit at her Ma’s side.

“That’s for certain.”

It was a standing and unofficial rule that children of the Shire take survival lessons in their early adolescence as a precaution for wandering faunts who didn’t know what and what not to put in their curious mouths or if they were separated from family. It was mostly the Tooks and Brandybucks who enforced this rule for their own children as their land was quite vast and wasn’t 100% safe unlike Hobbiton and Michael Delving.

“You’d think Aunt Donna would instill some sense into that boy with how often he accompanies her to the herb gardens,” Luna said while rummaging through the knitting basket for some yarn and knitting needles for her Ma.

“Thank Yavanna for small blessings that he at least knows what plants are safe and what are dangerous to the touch. Thank you, dear.” Knitting helped calm Mirabella’s nerves whenever her unborn babe decided to kick at her innards. “Your brother seems anxious to get out and explore the world,” she said while gently rubbing the side of her bulging belly. “Do you mind singing for him as you did before? I feel that it soothes both the babe and I.”

“I don’t mind at all, Mama.” Luna said kindly before gently clearing her throat.

_Sing all ye joyful, now sing all together?_

_The wind’s in the free-top, the wind’s in the heather;_

_The stars are in blossom, the moon is in flower,_

_And bright are the windows of Night in her tower._

No sooner had she begun singing that her third younger brother, Saradas, came waddling out from the nursery with his thumb in his mouth and blanket clutched in hand. He was but a toddler and had recently been put down for his afternoon nap, but the sound of his sister’s singing had roused him. She held out her arms to him and he happily went to her to cuddle atop her lap.

_Dance all ye joyful, now dance all together!_

_Soft is the grass, and let foot be like feather!_

_The river is silver, the shadows are fleeting;_

_Merry is May-time, and merry our meeting._

Mirabella let out a content sigh as her rowdy babe ceased his restless movements so she could continue knitting the sweater she was making him. Oh, but her daughter had a sweet and lilting voice that could calm even the most cantankerous of creatures.

_Sing we now softly, and dreams let us weave him!_

_Wind him in slumber and there let us leave him!_

_The wanderer sleepeth. Now soft be his pillow!_

_Lullaby! Lullaby! Alder and Willow!_

Luna had Elrond’s sons to thank for this song as it was the lullaby the Elves of Rivendell had sung to her during her previous life’s travels to their land. Lord Elrond had said that it was a common lullaby his wife had sung to his children before she had left for the Undying Lands.

_Sigh no more Pine, till the wind of the morn!_

_Fall Moon! Dark be the land!_

_Hush! Hush! Oak, Ash, and Thorn!_

_Hushed be all water, till dawn is at hand!_

 

* * *

 

“Sweet Merciful Mahal, what in the world are you two _doing_ here?!”

“Well that’s a rude thing to say,” came the snarky reply of the skin-changer who wore the face of someone Luna knew for damn sure shouldn’t have been in this world.

Luna had ventured into the Old Forest to speak with the Ancient Huorns as they had been receptive to her past visits. As much as those in the Shire feared the ancient forest, both the Tooks and the Brandybucks were forever grateful for the protection they granted by gracing the borders of Buckland. So when the Huorn representative had creaked and groaned its report on the state of the forest, she was utterly shocked when it shifted its roots to reveal two large and sleeping forms.

“I apologize, but...but...I saw you die ages ago! Both of you, I might add!”

“Ah, well about that...thanks for helping raise Teddy from before,” the second skin-changer said rather timidly.

“You’re welcome, Remus. Now about that explanation for _why_ you’re both miraculously alive, in different bodies, and specifically _here,_ ” she said with a pointed stare.

“You know what they say, death is but the next greatest ad--”

“Finish that sentence and I will skin you.”

The Huorn that stood above them creaked slightly and its leaves crinkled and shifted as though it were laughing at them.

Sirius flinched at the threat and shrugged his large shoulders. “In other words, Little Midget, you’re not the only one with friends in high places. Touching reunion with your parents back then; Remus cried his eyes out.”

“Shut up, Padfoot.”

“Anyway, the glowy bastards from up above also offered us a choice as our lives were cut so tragically short,” he said with a dramatic sniffle, “and of course we had to come. You worried your friends terribly after the Veil imploded on itself.”

“So that’s what happened to it,” she mused and grinned sheepishly. “At least no one else will be able to fall into it as you did.”

“But it was a graceful fall, no?” Sirius grinned right back and swept her up into a hug. “We’ve been watching you, you know, since before we were reborn here. You’re fearless enough to put both Harry and the Weasley terrors to shame.”

“Yes, well,” she grunted from the force of his hug, “sometimes I have to be.” She was set back down and received a much more gentler hug from Remus. “Thank you. I’ll have to bring you home with me now. My grandfather would love to meet you since he knows about everything before this. And I’m sure my siblings would love to play with the both of you.”

“Siblings? My, this is a vastly different world than the one from before,” Remus commented and followed after the young dwobbit as she led them out and away from the forest.

 

Introductions went about as well as expected excluding Mirabella’s cry of alarm that sent her into labor, followed by the midwife’s shriek of terror that was only mildly drowned out about Luna’s siblings’ cries of excitement.

“What kind of skin-changer are you?”

“Are you really from the Old Forest?”

“Can we ride you?”

“Boys, boys!” Luna shouted over the ruckus and ruffled her brothers’ hair affectionately. “They’ll be more than happy to answer your questions later. Rorimac, would you please retrieve Adad from the field and Amaranth, please make sure to look after Saradas. I’ll bring our guests to grandfather.”

“They’re so tiny,” Sirius cooed and nudged Remus to share his joy. “I just want to hug them forever.”

“You’re such an old sap. You almost didn’t want to give Harry back to Lily after he was born.”

“You almost dropped him.”

“Shut it.”

Luna chuckled over her friends’ bickering while she led the way to Brandy Hall. It was pleasant to hear them so care-free, a nice change from how she used to know them. But what a change this was! They had told her that they had been reborn as wolf skin-changers, quite the fit for the former animagus and werewolf. And although she hadn’t the heart to question Remus on his quite literal translation of his name in the past, she did laugh uproariously when Sirius had told her his new given name in this world.

“Our wolf mother thought it was most amusing,” Sirius had cackled before yelping when his best friend, now brother, slugged him in the shoulder.

“Prat.”

She was still giggling when she knocked on the door to her grandfather’s study while her grandmother kept their guests occupied with tea and cakes. There may have been some last minute grooming to make them as presentable as they could.

“Ugmil ’adad? I have some friends you might want to meet.”

“Considering how few friends you have, I’m assuming they are friends of a larger stature,” came the grumbled response from beyond the door. “I’ll be right out.”

When the Master of Buckland entered the sitting room, he took one look at the skin-changers and began to pout.

His wife, Adaldrida, smiled smugly and held out a hand. “Pay up. They’re not presently wizards.”

He let out an exasperated sigh and withdrew the money pouch from his trouser pocket. Giving his grandchild a rather intimidating glare, he tossed it to his wife. “Just once you could have brought current wizards, but no, it had to be skin-changers. Well lads, introduce yourselves if you please.”

“I am Sirius and this is my brother,” he paused for dramatic effect, a mischievous gleam in his eyes, “Wülf, sons of Nymeria.”

“I hate you,” muttered Remus.

“Oh, you poor boy,” Marmadoc said with genuine sympathy. “It is nice to finally meet more friends of my dear Luna. I’m sure we can find a smial to accommodate the two of you if you’d like.”

Wülf shook his head, “Thank you for the offer, but we are much more used to the outdoors. We can sleep in our animal forms indoors, but we have grown used to patrolling the lands. It’s part of why we’re here; our Mother wanted us to find our own way as we have outgrown our pack.”

“I see. Nevertheless, you are more than welcome to rest in the Main Hall. We’ve a large fireplace and so few to enjoy its warmth during the cold evenings. If any give you trouble, you let them know that you’re guests of Marmadoc Brandybuck. They’ll let you alone.”

“Our thanks, good Sir. I should also mention that we might have frightened your daughter-in-law into labor and that you have another grandchild on the way,” added Sirius with a nervous smile.

“Ah, so you’ve met our Mirabella then. Good, good. We’ll prepare some snacks and gifts to bring to them. I cannot wait to see another beautiful fauntling welcomed into the world.”

 

“The lad is a natural with children,” Mirabella commented while she rested in bed. Her eyes followed the large skin-changer who was gleefully nuzzling her newborn while her little Saradas clung to his back like a bur.

“Aye, that he is,” agreed Gorbadoc, who was relieved that his wife had had an easy birth and that they had new allies they could count on.

“Shame he wasn’t born a hobbit. He’s rather dashing for being half animal,” Mira said with an appreciative smile and she grinned when her husband sputtered at her. “I jest, my love. He’ll make for a lovely babysitter.”

Wülf chuckled from his spot on the floor where Amaranth was weaving his new friend a friendship bracelet from flowers and grass he had plucked from the garden. “He does love children and they seem to love him back quite easily. Our younger siblings were practically in tears at our sending-off.”

“I can see why,” stated Marmadoc while watching the goings-on in the room. Any hobbit could see the gentle heart within the skin-changers. Whether the lads knew it or not, this moment made them honorary Brandybucks for life.


	8. Rites of Spring

For creatures of Middle Earth with a longer longevity, time certainly passed quickly. Often, Luna would wonder where the time had gone since her younger brother Dodinas’ birth to her sixty-eighth birthday when all her siblings had been born and were now growing tweens. Shortly after Dodinas came little Asphodel whose hair was more honey than the darker brown of the majority of their siblings. Lastly came tiny Dinodas and Primula, the last fauntlings that her Mama Mirabella said she would ever bring into the world. Seven fauntlings was more than enough since they didn’t want to keep expanding the Family Smial any more than they needed to. 

To be honest, seven siblings was also more than enough for Luna to wrangle to bed every night. It was why she was currently exhausted after waking late to go over the plans for the next Market Day. Fortunately, she had her Uncle Orgulas, a Master Historian and Scribe in his own right, to double check her plans and to talk with the vendors on their side.

“Luna dear, if you have time to daydream, then surely you have time to keep writing? I don’t hear that pen moving across the paper anymore,” Uncle Orgulas chided kindly while shuffling the completed drafts for the vendors. 

“Dodgy old bat,” Luna muttered under her breath and continued her work. She couldn’t help but shiver at the uneasy feeling that sat in her stomach. Either the toast she had that morning was bad or something bad was on the way. _Please don’t be another bout of fever for my siblings. Last Spring Fever was awful,_ she thought to herself and immersed herself in charts and missives. 

The Chubbs were feuding with the Proudfoots.

Again.

They were in constant competition for who sold the best buttons in the Shire and the Chubbs were known for making theirs the most durable, yet the Proudfoots made the most elaborate ones. The two families’ booths had to be as far away from the other as possible and tender Hobbit sensibilities be damned, but the two were fierce rivals for the coin of their Dwarven customers.

 _Why can’t Adamanta deal with this? She’s related to the noisy ones. This work should be delegated to the Old Took. It’s his job to keep the peace!_ Luna fought the urge to bash her head onto her desk because she knew it wouldn’t help her already vicious headache.  

A tapping at her window had her squinting at the light streaming through the glass. Reaching out to undo the latch, she spotted one of her Ravens.

“Yes?”

“Fire in the South Farthing, Mistress. It dun seem nat’ral.”

“It’s a bit early in the year for them to do a Burning,” she noted absently while rubbing at her temples. She was nowhere near done with the preparations and now _this_? Her Adad couldn’t take care of it since he was in Hobbiton meeting with the Baggins; she and Orgulas were in Tookborough so they were the closest to handle the problem.

“It is that, Mistress.”

Oh, how she wanted to cry from the stress! She was going to get grey hairs before she turned one hundred at this point.

“I’ll go investigate, Luna dear. Everything is mostly in order for you to visit the Families and sort the rest of it out. I’ll even take the rascals out so you won’t have to worry.” Orgulas patted her gently on the back and gestured for the squabbling tweens waiting in the sitting room to follow him out.

“Hildigard! Dodinas! Get the pony ready. We’re going to visit the South Farthing and do some investigating. It’ll do the two of you some good to learn more about our responsibilities.”

“It’s far too early for the Burning, Uncle!”

“Should I bring the bows just in case? Mister Raven said the fire wasn’t natural.”

“I do trust our Raven’s judgement, so yes. Some light weaponry wouldn’t go amiss on our visit. Now do you remember what I said about being polite to…”

Luna let out a sigh of relief at the sound of their footsteps heading out the door. She was just so wound up and tense that the frustration was murder on her nerves. She let her head drop to the desk; she even let out a gentle trill of content when she felt the Raven affectionately preening her hair. She hadn’t lost her ability to communicate with birds as it was a leftover hobby and ability from her previous life.

“Rest a moment, Mistress. If you continue working as you do, you’ll start molting,” chortled the Raven before gently butting its head against her temple.

“Hilarious,” Luna deadpanned but took the advice given and let her body relax.

 

She had somehow managed to finish the day’s responsibilities and activities with little injury. Although Mama Mirabella was going to have kittens when she saw the bruise on Luna’s face after the Unofficial Peacekeeper of Feuding Families attempted to mediate a rather nasty scuffle down by the Market Booths. Luna was going to be feeling this one for quite some time since it was a work table that flew into her face.

Checking the bags loaded on her War Ram, she ran a hand through her disheveled hair and groaned. An amused bleating cut through her sound of distress and she glared at the ram.

“Shut up, Abe." 

Abe turned his uncommonly blue gaze towards her with a distasteful stare before turning away while she mounted his back. She supposed she ought to check on her family that had left to investigate the South Farthing as sunset was still a few hours off; she wasn’t expected to return to Brandy Hall until tomorrow anyway. She whistled sharply, to which her Raven companion took the cue and flew ahead of her.

“Come on, you stubborn old goat. You can graze for a bit when we reach the South Farthing.”

Abe stamped his feet at that and took off at a full run, more than excited to be able to sample the delicious grass he knew awaited him. Luna clutched at his horns for dear life as he stampeded down the dirt paths towards the South; she had little need to direct him since his memory with directions was far better than her own. Also the promise of sweet grass was a great motivator for a ram that was as stubborn as her entire family. The rhythmic sounds of his hooves hitting the ground and the wind whistling in her ears gave her time to think about the future.

She was almost seventy now and only a ways past her Coming of Age for dwarrows. Part of her often wondered when she’d get out of the Sleepy Town Life that was The Shire. Adventuring was in her blood and the wanderlust had started to creep into her thoughts even while she dreamed. She felt like she fully understood her past life’s Bilbo’s thirst to see and learn all that there was around her. This life’s Bilbo had a fraction of the curiosity, but was still eager to learn what was offered to him since he was almost a decade past his own Coming of Age.

Luna frowned at that.

She remembered how Fundin had said that some events hadn’t come to pass much like how Erebor was lacking a dragon this time around, but some things _had_ to happen. Thrór was had died in roughly the same manner as before, so that was why she worried over Belladonna Baggins and her family. There had been no hint of a winter so terrible that the Brandywine River would freeze over; they had animal allies that would forewarn them if there were any signs to begin with. Perhaps that was the source of her unease?  Everything had been going so smoothly that she had relaxed her guard for some years while she focused on improving the hobbits’ defenses.

Defenses that were severely lacking the farther one traveled into Hobbiton and it became painstakingly obvious when her steed skid to a halt at the front gate leading into the South Farthing, which appeared to still be mostly on fire.

Lovely.

The most they’d be able to do is contain the fire as much as they were able; a loss of stock of the pipe weed was easily dismissable when there would be possible hobbit lives at stake.

Holding a handkerchief to her mouth and nose, Luna nudged old Abe with her heel.

“Slowly, old boy. Let’s see if we can find where Uncle Orgulas wandered off to.”

Abe did as his mistress bid him and meandered down the worn path that led around the fields. Luna was able to track the footfalls of both the pony and her relatives which were layered over another set of odd tracks.

_These aren’t hobbit foot prints._

She had seen them before in her previous life, but had yet to run into them in her current. Just where had she seen them? She kicked her heels and spurred her mount from a measured gate into a full sprint when her Scouting Raven screeched from farther ahead.

“Blood, Mistress!”

Luna let out a curse so foul that it would have shriveled the surrounding shrubbery from such harsh language. That unsettling feeling from before returned tenfold and had her heart pounding in fear.

“Send for Sirius and Wülf! Gather your siblings; whichever ones are nearby is suitable. Have them keep tracking the blood on the trail!”

For the love of Durin, she hoped that her Uncle, brother, and cousin weren’t harmed! The Shire she had imagined for so long was still in its infancy and was in no way prepared for any kind of attack. And as they cut through Green Hill country towards the East Farthing, Luna felt her anxiety tug harshly at her paranoia.

_Something is wrong. Something has gone horribly wrong and we’re not ready for it!_

Daylight was fading and Luna had only just caught sight of the blood trail that her Raven had told her about. There was a disturbing amount as the puddles only got larger as they tore through the East Farthing as fast as her ram could take them. They came upon the pony that her Uncle Orgulas had brought with them and it was clearly mutilated and no longer living.

“Oh, Daisy, no!” Luna dismounted from Abe and knelt beside the fallen pony.

Her Uncle’s faithful pony had been cut down from her hind flank and penetrated with crudely made arrows from her front. Uncle Orgulas and the boys must have made a run for it as they were nowhere nearby from what she could see.

“Uncle Orgulas! Hildigard! Dodinas!” She shouted, no longer caring that if whatever had preyed upon them and their pony could hear her or not.

“Luna!”

She turned to see Sirius transforming back into his man shape.

“Wülf has gone on ahead of us to track them. He spazzed out once he caught the scent of blood. Have Abe head back home, I’ll shift and you ride me while we follow after my brother.”

“We better hurry, Sirius. They’re all probably injured with the amount of blood I’ve been tracking since it all couldn’t have come from Daisy.”

Poor Daisy.

The mild tempered pony didn’t deserve such an end as she was one of the original few that had been sent from Rohan.

Sirius’ face was grim and nodded.

“Let’s go.”

 

Dusk had arrived when they came upon Wülf and the mangled form of Orgulas Brandybuck. Luna was already pulling athelas from a pouch that was strapped to her belt and had tears in her eyes.

“Uncle!” She almost wailed at the sight of him.

The crudely made arrows from before had penetrated his shoulder, arms, and legs. His disfigured hands reached for her and she wanted to scream at the clearly broken and missing fingers. His right eye had also been slashed and his left was also severely damaged.

“Lu..na? I don’t...have much time…” he panted as what was left of his hands cupped her teary visage.

“Hush, please! I’ll save you and you’ll be right as rain in no time,” she pleaded with him as she tore her at the hem of her skirt to use as a makeshift bandage.

“They have taken...more than my Mastery...from me,” he coughed and blood dribbled from the corner of his lips. “They have...taken the boys. You...must...go after...them…” Orgulas trailed off as his strength began to leave him.

“Uncle! Uncle Orgulas!” Luna shouted in an effort to keep him awake, but she knew he was right and that he wasn’t long for this world.

Wülf had his head buried in his hands as he wept for what had become a good friend of his during his time in Buckland. The most they could do for him now was to bring him to a place where he could pass on as comfortably as he could.

“Come along, Little Moonbeam.” He lifted the dwobbit up and back onto his brother’s back. “We’ll bring him to the Great Smials and report this to the Thain. It’s too dark for us to track the kidnappers and it isn’t safe with your uncle so wounded.”

Sirius huffed an agreement with his brother and bore the distraught dwobbit on his back. There was little more they could do here and they needed the counsel of both the Thain and the Master of Buckland if they were to pursue a rescue mission.  


 

Gerontius Took sat in his armchair, pipe in hand and eyes lost as he stared at nothing. Not moments ago had Luna Brandybuck brought a fatally wounded Orgulas Brandybuck to his doorstep with grim news regarding both one his of sons and one of her siblings. Adamanta had ordered their children to help her prepare a room for Orgulas and to assist her in helping him as best they could while they sent raven messengers for Marmadoc and Gorbadoc as this event called for their attention as well.

They could do nothing but wait until the proper authorities had been called so they could hold a council about what to do. Naturally, they would still make the attempt to rescue their children, but what had him so concerned was the way Luna had slumped to the floor at his feet with a sob as she begged his forgiveness for not protecting their family from coming to harm.

The skinchangers had remained outside the Great Smials to stand guard and watch for their invited guests, but they too had looked utterly distraught when they had reported to him their findings and lack thereof.

Ancestors above, but he suddenly felt old. Never had he thought that such a tragedy could happen within distance of his home and to his own family. So lost in his thoughts was he that he didn’t even notice his wife’s presence at his side.

“Gerontius,” she spoke softly with a defeated tone, “we have done all we can for Orgulas. I fear he will not make it through the night.”

The Thain exhaled sharply, his eyes now trained on the Brandybuck lass who lay on his floor in a fitful sleep. There were no words for the grief that burrowed its way into their hearts as they contemplated the grave news of what tragic end awaited one of their oldest friends.

“Orgulas is and has always been a strong lad. He will not pass on without saying his farewells to his family. We must remain calm for the time being and pray to the Green Lady that Hildigard and Dodinas will be returned to us.” He said and pulled his wife down to sit upon his armchair with him.

While the Thain and wife spoke quietly above her, Luna lay in a heap and wept quietly. She felt as though she had no breath in her body left to cry as hard as she wanted to, for her mind was racing with just who or what had abducted her brother and cousin. Time slipped away from her and she closed her eyes to try to focus on the memories of her past life to remember those odd tracks she had seen that day. She had fought all kinds of beasts and baddies in her previous life from wargs and giant spiders to Uruk-hai. There was little for her to go on as it had been too dark to determine if enemy blood had been spilled during her Uncle’s skirmish and he had not been the most coherent to explain what had happened to them before Luna and her skinchanger friends brought him to the Took Ancestral Home.

Thinking of her Uncle had her heart breaking all over again. Orgulas was a Master in his own right as both a Hobbit and a Dwarf. He was a great historian and diplomat who often reminded her of Fundin, whose counsel she missed most at this hour of need. Whoever had attacked her family had done her uncle a most cruel disservice by destroying his hands and blinding him; she had to count the smallest blessings that his voice had not been stolen from him as well.

_What use are small blessings while he drifts closer to Hall of Mandos every second? Oh, Uncle._

A sudden insistent knock at the door startled them all from their thoughts and Adamanta was quick to open it.

“Marmadoc!”

“Where is my son?” Came the gruff question from the Master of Buckland who had sped out out of Hobbiton like a bat out of Hell when the raven had relayed the message to him. _By Mahal, no! Not one of his children!_

“Grandfather,” Luna whispered and picked herself up off the floor to follow after him. “Where is Adad?”

“He and some of the Tookland Bounders have rode out to pick up the trail left behind by the goblins who took our boys.” He replied curtly with an edge of violence in his voice that halted Luna’s footsteps.

“Goblins! You’re sure?” Adamanta gasped before opening the door that led to the guest bedroom where her patient lay quietly.

The Master of Buckland grunted his confirmation before reaching the bedside of his youngest child where he lay a heavy hand on his child’s brow.

“Oh, Inùdoy,” Marmadoc used the language of his Dwarven kin freely as the Took’s knew of their origins.

“A-Adad? You’re here,” Orgulas said, relief in his tone. “Amad has been calling from the Halls. Even Luella has been ever at my side, ready to guide me.”

Luna’s eyes filled with tears at his words.

“Amad?” She whispered and felt the slightest brush against her cheeks and the sensation of a hand stroking her hair.

“You best not keep your guide waiting then. I do not wish for you to continue suffering so,” said Marmadoc, his forehead touching that of his son’s. “Go now and rest with our family. Mahal watches over us all and may he help heal you of your pain.”

As the last breath came from Orgulas, the Master of Buckland sank to his knees and wept into the quilt that covered his son. How was he to tell the news to his other children who resided outside of both Buckland and the Shire? He hadn’t felt such sorrow since the passing of his wife Adaldrida many years ago and for a moment, he felt lost.

Unfortunately, there were still other matters that required addressing so he halted his tears and got to his feet. He could grieve later once their current situation was resolved. He may have lost a son, but he would be damned if he lost a grandchild on top of this.

They could not risk sending their full force of Bounders to regroup with his oldest son and the others, but he could send their fiercest. He recognized that beyond his eldest grandchild’s broken gaze, there was a fire blazing with justice for the harm dealt to them. Before he had stepped into the Great Smials, his skinchanger friends had knelt and vowed to bring the children home with whatever resources they had. They were one of the few he dared to trust to successfully carry out such a mission as they had speed and endurance on their side.

He would go himself if he could, but he and the Thain needed to remain in the Shire should they be attacked while their strongest would be away. That and he had a feeling that the abduction of two children, who happened to be respective heirs in their own right, would not be the end of this attack. They had much to prepare and organize as the only goblins that resided nearby were those from the Misty Mountains; the very same goblins that the Took ancestor had met in battle all those years ago.

Resting his hands on his grandchild’s shoulders, he pressed his forehead to hers to bring her attention to him.

“I know you are hurting, but right now I need you to redirect that pain elsewhere. I need my Azaghîth ready to start her hunt at dawn. The Raven Relay team will assist you so you won’t be completely without aid should you need it. You will travel with Sirius and Wülf to rescue Hildigard and Dodinas; I will pack your provisions, so go rest until it is time.”

“Yes, grandfather.” She said with an undercurrent of steel laced in her voice. She would not fail him in this.

She swore it.

 

* * *

 

Morning was a somber affair as not just Luna, but Sirius and Wülf bid their final good-byes to Orgulas, who now lay in a hastily-made funeral box at the back of a cart driven by Marmadoc. He was going to lay his son in their family resting place which was a secret from the rest of the Shire. 

Luna wiped at her eyes with her sleeve and nodded at her grandfather. There was no more time for tears as they still had to catch up to her father and the other Bounders. Mags III was going to be their guide as she was the swiftest flyer they had on the Raven Relay and was essential to the communications bit of their mission.

Her grandfather had suspected that the goblins would retreat towards the Misty Mountains, so it was imperative that they reach them before then. Traversing the caves and tunnels there would be impossible if the goblins could get the children that far. Luna had her own suspicions that their enemy would more than likely pause to rest at some point as goblins, much like orcs, held no love for daylight and had to have been extremely lucky to catch hobbits wandering about so late in the day. Surely they would have moved quickly to a location to remain out of sight of the sun and any wandering folk, which narrowed her suspicions down to the Old Forest or mayhap just beyond that to…

_The Barrow-Downs._

Blind panic seized her heart for a brief moment before she forced herself to breathe through it. Such a haunted place would be perfect for a small band of goblins to hide if they made it through or around the edges of the Old Forest. And goblins were foul enough that the Barrow-wights would probably ignore them for the most part because once her brother and cousin realized where they were, even they would rather hold their tongues than call for help in such a cursed place.

_Bloody fucking hell._

“Mags!” Luna called out to the raven flying above them. “Where did the Bounders track them to?”

The magpie descended from the sky to fly down to Luna’s level.

“North Downs,” Mags cawed.

“Mahumb _,_ ” Luna swore under her breath and leaned forward to speak into Sirius’ ear. “We’re going to the North Downs and we need to pick up the pace. I have an idea of where our quarry will be.”

A sharp bark was his reply and he growled something to Wülf, who ran beside them and nodded as they took off at full speed towards the North.

It took them most of the morning to locate her father and fellow Bounders who had made camp behind the hills just between the Old Forest and Barrow-Downs. Isengrim III greeted them with a wave followed by a finger to his lips to indicate that silence was needed. The three hunters nodded and followed after the Senior Bounder towards the camp where Luna’s father had drawn a miniature map of the Downs.

“Luna, Sirius, Wülf.” He greeted them quietly, his eyes red from either lack of sleep or tears. Probably both if the death of his brother had reached him during the night.

“Adad,” she gave him a quick hug and sat on the ground beside him. “I thought we didn’t know about the structure of the Downs.” 

“We’re not supposed to, but the hobbits I’ve gathered here have traveled here before for their own reasons. We have a basic layout of the burial mounds, but still we must tread cautiously. The old reports of this place mention there is no set pattern for how the Barrow-wights wander, but the they do attack intruders of the Enemy. We have heard nothing since we arrived, so I believe it’s safe to assume the goblins do not know we are trailing them.”

It _was_ a relatively safe assumption.

Very few living creatures ever passed this way out of sheer self-preservation. It was the perfect place for allies of the Enemy to rest and regain their strength. It was also why her father had only taken the veteran Bounders with him rather than risk their green recruits who had yet to patrol so far north.

“We’ve estimated their numbers to be under a dozen, so at most there’s at least ten of them. We gathered as much athelas as we could during our rest stops in case one of us becomes injured as a precaution. Any other time, I’d recommend splitting up into groups to flank them, but the goblins are by far the least of our worries. Our primary concern is recovery and retreat; we can retreat safely through the Old Forest as the great Huorns hold no love for goblins and their like. Boys,” he spoke directly to the skinchangers, “I’ll need you to be in man-form until there’s present danger.”

After changing back into their humanoid forms, Wülf agreed to the current plan and reassured them that their senses were not dulled by whatever shape they held. He even offered to support the rear for when they entered the Barrow-Downs in case they were to be attacked from behind. Sirius tended to have keener senses for detecting danger and he also had the scents of the missing hobbitlings, so tracking them would be easier at the front with Gorbadoc.

They had little time if they were to reclaim their kin and return home before the sun went down, so they entered the Barrow-Downs as quietly as only creatures such as they were able to. They moved as one, Wülf tapping on their backs when they strayed too close to a mound or a cairn so as not to disturb whatever could be waiting for them. They heard whispers within the light fog, echoes of those who had died in the past, but they ignored them to focus on listening for the ones they sought after.

“Hildigard, are you alright? We have to set it before...well, you know.” Dodinas said quietly from where he was tied down.

“It burns a bit, but I think it will be fine. What about you?”

“I’m okay,” Dodinas said with a sniffle and painfully shifted over to his cousin. “I’m scared, Hildigard.”

“Me too, but--” Hildigard was cut off by a sharp twist to what remained of his ear and he shrieked in pain.

“Quiet, you brats! Make another noise and we’ll take another bite out of you!” The lead goblin hissed and gnashed his teeth at them.

“I want my Adad!” Dodinas whined, the stress from the day before finally reached its breaking point.

“I said quiet--hurk!” The goblin gurgled as the strong jaw of a massive wolf clamped over his collarbone and snapped it. 

Both hobbit tweens cried out in alarm as the remaining goblins, who had been previously resting, surged to their feet and brandished their rusted swords at the grey wolf that towered over them all.

“Kill it, you fools!” The lead goblin hissed before he was flung aside, his body hitting the ground roughly.

“Not in this lifetime, you rat!” Came the angry roar of Marmadoc whose twin blades easily cut down the nearest goblin. “Isengrim, Gundabald! Take the children and escape on Wülf!”

The two Bounder Squad leaders did as they were commanded and scooped a tween into their arms while Wülf hunched down so they could mount his back.

“Go! I’ll cover you!” Luna shouted, notching an arrow and releasing it to pierce a goblin that was trying to sneak up behind them. Looping the string over her shoulder, she unsheathed her sword and stood back to back with her father. There were still at least five or six goblins remaining and they needed to reserve their strength for what the noise of their fighting would bring to them.

“We need one of them alive if possible,” her father said just quietly enough for her to hear.

Her hands gripped the hilt of her sword almost painfully as she acknowledged her father’s words. Oh, how she just wanted to kill them for killing her Uncle, but they _did_ need the information. There was no way this was just a one-off attack against them.

Paranoia had served their kind well in the past and it would be foolish not to heed it.

The nearby cairns rumbled as a piercing screech cut through the tense atmosphere. Rocks tumbled from above as the screeching rose in pitch and volume.

“Wights!” Gorbadoc gasped through the sheer terror that gripped them.

 _No! Not now!_ Luna turned her head frantically, eyes searching for the greater danger that lurked so closely to them. The knew it would happen, but had fervently prayed it would not come to this.

The cries of the wights sent the goblins scurrying for retreat and Gorbadoc had to make a snap decision.

“Sirius! Take one as a prisoner if you can! We’ll meet you back in the Old Forest!”

It spurned his pride to know that he was letting some of the remaining goblins return to their home and say Mahal knew what to their kind, but they had gotten what they came for. It would be a monumental waste to not see their rescue completed!

“Luna! Fallback and cover the escape!” He saw his daughter hesitate, the hate for the goblins a fierce fire in her eyes. “LUNA MAGNOLIA BRANDYBUCK, YOU WILL DO AS YOU’RE TOLD!”

Luna flinched and buried her hate for another time. She turned on her heel and followed after her father, shooting arrows at the wights that began to come for them. They could hear the sounds of battle up ahead through the fog that had become dense during their time there.

"Brother, watch out!”

“HILDIGARD!”

Gorbadoc and Luna stumbled to a halt, their mouths open in silent horror at what awaited them. Wülf had been cut up from defending the tweens as best he could; Gundabald threw his throwing axes at the wights that got too close, then raised his warhammer over his head to strike the ‘body’ of another wight. Isengrim was on the ground, his hands empty of weapons as he pleaded with the two wights that held his younger brother aloft above them. His brother had shoved him out of the way of the path of a rusted sword meant for his neck; a sword which Hildigard took to his ribs.

“No, please! Please not my brother! Please!”

Hildegard felt so cold and his body hurt so badly. He could hear the begging of his eldest brother and turned his head slowly to catch sigh of the wights that held him. He wished he hadn’t looked, for the sinister look in their undead eyes frightened him terribly to the point of tears. He wailed in pain as their menacing grasp on his arms tightened further.

“HILDIGARD, NO! PLEASE I’LL DO ANYTHING! PLEASE, YOU’RE KILLING HIM!” Isengrim cried out helplessly, his hands once again grasping his swords to attack. Begging wasn’t helping, so he could at least cut down the undead bastards killing his little brother.

“I-Isengrim I’m scared--”

There was a sickening squelching noise as flesh was torn asunder. Bones and blood rained down from above as they all screamed at the sight of the hobbit tween that was once Hildigard Took fell to the ground in dripping red pieces and rags.

Isengrim’s legs turned to jelly and he fell forward onto his hand and knees. The scream wrenched from the anguish in his heart drowned out the sinister laughter of the Barrow-wights who were delighted with the mess they had made.

Luna would never forget the sight of one of her dearest cousins dismembered before her. Nor would she ever forget the way her father and granduncle charged forward in a blind rage, their teeth bared as they fought with everything they had.

“Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!” They shouted as one and the old battle cry roused something violent within her.

Joining the fray, she paid little attention the wounds she received as her instincts were screaming for her to fight. To avenge.

To _kill._

Like berserkers, they attacked relentlessly until there were no more Barrow-wights to be found and the dense fog that had once permeated the Barrow-Downs had lifted. What broke them from their Battle-Lust was the muffled sobbing of Dodinas Brandybuck, who had his face pressed against Wülf’s thick pelt.

Gorbadoc sank down to his knees, his body feeling every bit of its one hundred years. He hadn’t lost his wits like that since the death of his Luella where he had flew into such a rage that it took a sword hilt to the back of his head from his father to snap him out of it.

His Uncle patted him on the shoulder and took careful steps towards the frightened tween who had managed to survive. Gundabald patted Wülf on the head and even scratched behind his ears in thanks for protecting his kin.

“Good lad. I’ll take the wee one from here.” He lifted the whimpering Dodinas up and cradled him gently against the armor plating across his chest. “There now, Akhûnîth. Uncle Gunda has you and you’re safe at last.”

He nudged Wülf with his shoulder and tilted his head towards the Old Forest.

“Let’s go meet up with yer brother. Gorba will take care of things here.”

Wülf let out a soft whine at the sight that lay behind him before letting out a low, mournful howl to signal his brother that they were returning. Internally, Remus cried every step of the way back to the Forest for the life that was cut short far too soon.

Luna stared at the mess of withered bodies that littered the ground around them. Her eyes focusing on anything but the red stain that sunk into the ground in front of Isengrim and bit back the bile rising up in her throat. She wouldn’t let herself be sick here; not where she knew would be the final resting place of her younger cousin. Sheathing her sword, she nodded once to her father and headed for the outskirts of the Barrow-Downs to wait for them.

Gorba watched his eldest child leave to give the two of them privacy. Sighing heavily, he removed a glove from his hand and placed his palm onto the ground and used his stone sense to search for an area with a softness to it. He wouldn’t dare bury a Took’s remains encased in rock, but suitable soil would be far more respectful.

Finding the area he was looking for, he dug through the pack that had been strapped to his back for the pan they had used when they had camped. He may be a warrior, but his roots as a farmer still guided him.

This was good soil.

He started digging, doing his best to ignore the sobbing that turned into dry heaving behind him. He would let Isengrim grieve as much as he wanted to and softly began humming a song of mourning. He knew not the words, but the tune was as clear as the day he heard it during his grandmother’s funeral.

He heard Isengrim move behind him, heard the slow shuffle of footsteps and saw the younger hobbit deposit his sibling’s remains into the growing hole. Still, he said nothing but continued his humming. He certainly felt a great deal of sympathy for Isengrim as it had not even been a full day since Orgulas’ passing.

This was indeed a day for grieving.  


 

Their return to Brandybuck Hall was infinitely more dismal than their leave from the Great Smials. Thank Yavanna that no one had thought to throw them a Welcoming Party as was the Hobbit way, but most of those that resided in Buckland were of Dwarven descent and knew what may or may not be returning to them. 

Gerontius, Marmadoc, Adamanta, and Mirabella stood before the grand doors of the Brandy Hall, their eyes desperately searching for the ones they had lost the day before. When Isengrim knelt before his parents and sister, the three Took’s cried out in horror and sorrow after he explained where Hildigard was buried. Marmadoc ushered the Took family into an alcove within the Hall, leaving them with tea and blankets while they mourned the loss of a child.

Hildigard was such a good lad. He was proficient in archery and had repeatedly spoken of his wishes to serve as one of the Bounders of Tookborough; something they had all been proud of him for.

“Adad,” said Gorbadoc who was gesturing to his father from the table they had laid a slumbering and wounded Dodinas.

Luna and Gundabald were cleaning the tween’s wounds in silence, their eyes as heavy as their hearts must be.

“Nidoyel, so you have returned to me. What news do you bring?” Marmadoc said, his voice still rather hoarse from the tantrum he had thrown in his forge while he was awaiting their return.

Gorbadoc rubbed his face with his hands, unsure of how to tell his father what his own son had told them in bits and pieces during their return journey.

“Well? Out with it, boy.”

Luna saw her father hesitate to speak and paused from her ministrations to pull her grandfather aside.

“What Adad can’t say is something both the Thain and Master of Buckland need to hear. The news is that grave,” she whispered.

“Understood. Gunda, let Mira and Adamanta to care for Dodinas. Tell Gerontius to meet with me in the Den. You’ll be his guide,” he instructed his younger cousin.

Grabbing both his son and granddaughter, he led them through the hall and down the corridor towards the Family Library. He ran his hands along the edge of one of the shelves until he found what he was looking for: a well-worn groove hidden behind one of the support beams of the shelves. Pulling with all his strength, his family stood shocked as not just the shelves, but the wooden floor rotated with the Master’s motions.

“What in the name of Durin…?” Gorbadoc had never seen such a thing before! At least not in his own ancestral home!

“You weren’t to be told of this until your hundred-fiftieth birthday where I would deliver to you the second offer of becoming the Master of Buckland. You know that Gunda already turned me down decades ago, but family tradition and all that. Now come along and watch your head!” He cautioned them while gingerly finding the winding stone steps down into the Den.

To Gorbadoc’s surprise, he could see fairly well in the darkness that led them to what could have been a cellar for all he knew. His daughter seemed more surefooted than he and he fixed his gaze at the back of his father’s head.

“Don’t look at me like that. You know she followed me everywhere as a child. You’re just upset she found it before you,” Marmadoc kept the mood light as he searched for the flintrock and slab of steel he kept nearby the oil lamps. “Aha. And there we go,” he said, striking the rock against the steel so the smallest spark would ignite the oil running between the grooves carved into the stone beside the walls.

The room became illuminated within seconds and Gorbadoc felt his jaw drop at the murals carved into the stone walls.

“Adad, is this--”

“I’m fine, my friend. These steps just weren’t made for an old hobbit with a cane!”

Marmadoc shook his head at his son; they would speak of the history of the murals at another time. Right now, they had important matters to attend to.

“Yer not as feeble as you let on, Gerontius, and you know it,” grumbled an amused Gundabald.

“Hush you. Marmadoc! Tell me what is so important that I must part with my grieving wife and daughter,” the Thain ordered once he was seated on at the small table in the center of the room.

“Yes, Gorbadoc. Do tell us,” Marmadoc turned his stern gaze on his son, who suddenly felt like a fauntling in the presence of the two ruling hobbits.

“Dodinas heard the plans of the goblins who captured him. They’re going to invade the Shire per the orders of their Master,” he forced the words out. “Furthermore, the single goblin we captured refused to talk, but only confirmed what we knew and its companions escaped. We can only hope they won’t be able to return to the Misty Mountains for some time before they launch their attack. They aren’t just coming for our children either, Adad, they’re coming for all of us.”

With every word uttered from his lips, Gorbadoc watched his father’s features harden and the Master of Brandybuck was grinding his teeth so loudly they all cringed at the sound.

“Well,” Gerontius huffed and thumped his cane on the floor. “That’s just...well! Who knew that goblins could carry such long grudges!”

“Sir, are you speaking of the Battle of Greenfields?” Luna asked aloud. She knew that’s what the elder hobbit was most likely speaking of, but a part of her feared some greater conspiracy was at hand here.

“Indeed I am, my dear girl. Bandoboras _did_ decapitate their king after all! Bit of a hard thing for anyone to forget, really,” the Old Took added absently before he turned his attention to Marmadoc. “You allowed them to join us as your witnesses, didn’t you?”

“Witnesses? Adad, what is he talking about? Luna, surely you must know--”

“Contrary to what _you_ think, Adad, I’m not privy to every bit of history grandfather knows.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Bundushathûr!”

“I don’t know the meaning of that one, but it sounded like an insult. Granduncle Gunda, did Adad just _insult_ me?”

“Shazara!” Marmadoc roared loud enough to make the walls rattle. Turning to Gerontius, he nodded. “They’re both young and foolish, but yes, they are my witnesses. What say you, Gerontius Took, Thain and Steward of the Shire?”

Gerontius stood on his feet without the aid of his cane, placed a fist over his heart and knelt. “As my lord commands, so it shall be done. Your orders, Melhekhel?”

“Call them home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdul Translations**  
>  Adad - father  
> Amad - mother  
> Azaghîth – Little warrior  
> Akhûnîth – young man  
> Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu! - Axes of the Dwarves! The Dwarves are upon you!  
> Bundushathûr - Cloudyhead  
> Inùdoy - son  
> Mahumb - shit  
> Melhekhel - King of all Kings  
> Nidoyel – boy of all boys  
> Shazara – silence


	9. Blood Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will have some gradual time skips, so bear with me.

Luna sat beside the tomb of her Uncle Orgulas in Oldbuck Hall, hidden just north of Brandy Hills within a copse of sleeping Huorns. All Brandybucks knew of its location but only the main family knew how to get in. It was the tomb of their ancestors who had first immigrated to the Shire and it was entirely Dwarven in appearance.

The front entrance had two Dwarven Gatekeepers; one in the image of Durin holding an axe, the other of Gorhendad Oldbuck wielding a sword and shield. Both were carved from obsidian and stood nearly as tall as the trees that guarded the resting place of her ancestors. It was here that those who had died in battle were laid to rest under the carved watchful eyes of Mahal, their kin’s creator.

Luna sniffled and hugged her knees closer to her chest. Her hands hurt from how hard she had gripped her tools since she had tasked herself to carving the bust of her late Uncle. They didn’t have to time to carve a full statue of him, but her grandfather said she was too emotional to aid them in their plans to call every Hobbit or Dwarf of Oldbuck descent to return home to help save them. While she knew her grandfather was right, a part of her still seethed in unrelenting fury that two of her family members had been taken from her and that her little brother was now a shell of his former self.

Burying her rage, she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Right now, she was useless to her family if she continued to use her anger to fuel her actions. There were things that they all had to do and until she cleared her head of it, she’d remain here in the tomb to work through it.

 

Marmadoc Brandybuck had never before felt so old in his life.

It was one thing to know that, in all technicality, he was the _King of the Shire_ , but it was another thing entirely for those kingly duties to be at the forefront of his mind. Gerontius had left with the orders to explain to the Hobbits within the Shire just what their situation was and where they should all be evacuated if it came down to an invasion. Marmadoc’s responsibilities lay in fortifying Buckland’s defenses and to contact its allies.

It was quite a sight to see the Shire’s aviaries empty of its Ravens nearly all at once. A black, sweeping storm of wings scattered in every direction; a few flew towards New Belegost, some to Bree, but the the best flyers flew to Rohan, Rivendell, Dale, Erebor and even the Iron Hills. Marmadoc knew the Dwobbits of Bree and New Belegost would be the first to arrive and he dreaded the arrival of two specific Dwobbits of Bree. His twin daughters, Beryl and Briar, who would be receiving summons to return home on top of the sudden news that their younger brother had just passed.

 _Some father I turned out to be,_ he groaned and rubbed his hands over his face, palms catching on the stubble he didn’t bother to shave. His youngest was dead as was his kin through the Took line, and his grandson wasn’t far behind. Sometimes he wondered if he had buried his Dwarf side too deep and that it had finally come to bite him in the ass for not doing better to protect his kin.

 _“Better late than never, my boy.”_ His father’s words of wisdom echoed in his mind as he surveyed the map of Buckland’s borders and beyond.

Normally, he would call on his eldest grandchild to assist him as she had the most knowledge of what lay beyond Bree, but she was currently indisposed in her anger. He locked her away within his private forge where he heard the distant clangs and crashes of his projects meeting their end at her hands. The half-formed morningstar through the ceiling was particularly impressive when her rage had temporarily quieted. For now, he commissioned her to carve the bust of his son within the privacy of the Clan Tomb; he would request her assistance once her temper evened down to a simmer.

Fortunately, they were not without allies. Wülf had left to request aid from his kin; he would attempt to meet with the scattered packs of skinchangers, and hopefully at least one would offer assistance. Sirius had wanted to go with his brother, but the lad’s heart was with the ailing tween who slept fitfully and whimpered even while he was awake.

 _“There now, young pup. Have a bite to eat. I’ve got you now,”_ _Sirius held the Fading Dodinas gently._

_“I’m going to die just like Hildigard, aren’t I?” The tween’s voice was bitter and broken, much like his spirit._

_“None of that now. My brother will bring help, you’ll see. My sister Rachna is the Alpha of her own pack and she’s closest to us. She’ll spread the word and bring us more protectors.”_

_“You have a sister?”_

_“Dodinas, I was born in a litter. I have more sisters than I know what to do with. Now, Rachna, she’s two litters older than I, but she’s the strongest after our mother…”_

Marmadoc felt his heart clench in pain once again.

Oh, his boys.

None of them deserved this and after the lives they had lived previously, they were long overdue peace.

In times of peace, sons buried their fathers, but in times of war, fathers buried their sons. And they were very much in a time of war.

 

 

**_Bree_ **

Beryl awoke to her twin violently shaking her from her slumber. Eyes blurry with sleep, she blinked and found herself with an armful of a sobbing sister and a feeling of dread crept into her heart.

“Briar? Namad, what has you so upset?”

“Orgulas is dead,” her sister whispered and Beryl felt as though the earth beneath their feet opened up and swallowed them whole.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she clutched her sister tightly; not their sweet, ferocious, little Orgulas. Not the little brother who toddled after them and begged them to teach him his letters and the stories of their ancestors.

“H-How?” She gasped in shock, “He was healthy and hale last we saw him!”

Briar recited the message the messenger raven relayed to her and Beryl fought back the urge to scream. Orgulas dying to defend the lives of their kin, the loss of Hildigard Took and a nephew Fading. If anyone else had told her such things, she would have laughed in their face before knocking their teeth out!

“Adad has taken the Original Title,” mumbled Briar before wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her nightshirt. “He and the Thain have called us home. _All of us_.”

Beryl’s eyes went wide with shock. _Never_ since the days of Gordenhad Oldbuck’s rule had there been such a Calling.

“We need to contact the others.”

“I sent the Raven back out to tell them. I gave the Raven instructions to let them know to bring what they need and that we’ll head out to Buckland in two days.”

“Two days? Are you mad? Why aren’t we leaving right now?!” Beryl demanded as she was already halfway out of bed, quick fingers taming her wild hair into simple plaits.

“Because we have to give notice to our clients and inform the Sheriff of Bree. As much as I want to saddle up a pony and ride home, we can’t leave the people here unaware of what’s to come. Adad raised us better than that and you know it.”

Beryl’s lips twisted into a scowl, blue eyes like steel as she saw the wisdom of Briar’s words. She hated it when her sister used logic, but she was right.

“I’ll handle the Merchant’s Guild if you deal with the Sheriff.”

“Deal.”

  
 

**_Erebor_ **

Fundin collapsed onto his chair with a weary heart. He glanced at all the paperwork he had just been working on and couldn’t find a single care to give for the important documents because of the one letter that sat before him:

_My Dear Friend Fundin,_

_It pains me to inform you that the Shire is going to war. I come to you now, not as King of the Shire nor as the Master of Buckland, but as a friend asking for help in these trying times. I dare not ask Erebor to send its armies as the alliance we have, although long forgotten, was one borne of friendship. I merely ask that if there are any that remember the descendants of Oldbuck would be willing to come to our aid._

_I feel terribly old, my friend. My youngest son, one of your brightest pupils, was returned to stone today. Orgulas died at the hands of goblins who abducted my grandchild and his Took cousin. I will not tell you that his death was quick because he was as much your son as he was mine and you deserve to know what befell him. They broke his hands beyond repair and took his sight before leaving him mangled for my eldest grandchild to find. The Bounders have retrieved our abducted kin and revealed a most sinister plot. The goblins of the Misty Mountains plan to erase the existence of the Hobbits and all who reside within the Shire._

_I have passed a similar message along to Dáin in the Iron Hills. It will take time for any of our kin to reach the Shire, and I hope it will be in time. I have begun to fortify our defenses for we have no knowledge of when the attack will come. I leave my raven with you for the time being; he has further instructions if your King refuses any volunteers who choose to come._

_Your Friend,  
_ _Marmadoc Brandybuck_

“Mahal have mercy,” Fundin mumbled, forcing back the urge to weep in despair. 

How was he to tell this to his own sons? They had studied and learned the sword along with the lad in their early years and he had become a brother of sorts to them. Balin would be especially devastated to lose such a close friend and confidant outside of their immediate family. 

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to his feet and left his personal study. He would speak to his sons and then he would speak with the Miners, who he knew had some of the Oldbuck blood running in their veins.

 

 

**_The Iron Hills_ **

Thorin III Stonehelm stood in his father’s private chambers and watched father wept silently, the recently delivered letter held limply in his hands. 

“Adad?”

Whatever news had been delivered was tragic enough to reduce his father to such a state. It had been many years since he had witnessed his father looking so distraught. He stepped closer towards him, hand resting on his father’s shoulder.

Dáin knew his son had questions, but as of that moment, he was lost to memories. Marmadoc was Hanna's boy, the dam he had fancied in his youth before he had met his One. When she had politely rejected his advances and found her own One, he stayed friends with her until her passing. Her son was a bright and intelligent boy from what he remembered of his short stay in the Iron Hills. He recalled holding him shortly after he was born, a great sign of trust from his parents that he honored to this day. 

A surge of grief at the thought of losing a child had him dragging his own son closer in a backbreaking embrace as the childish voice of _“Unca Dáin!”_ reverberated in his memories.

Of course he would send aid. He would repay the kindness of Madoc Brandybuck, who had come to the Iron Hill’s aid with little prompting, because it was the right thing to do.

 

 

 _One Week Later  
_ **_Buckland_ **

“How are they getting in? I don’t understand!” Gorbadoc was at his wits’ end and threw his hands up in frustration.

His sisters and Dwobbits of Firebeard/Broadbeam descent had arrived just days ago and somehow _another Hobbit child had been abducted, tortured, and left to die!_ It shouldn’t have been possible since they had an increased patrol, but somehow the fauntling had been captured from Michel Delving.

“Someone is obviously letting them in, nadad.” Beryl said with a growl.

They were utterly furious at the thought of one of the Hobbits within the Shire selling out one of their own, but what other reason could there be? The borders of Buckland all the way up to Bree were being heavily guarded with a rotation consisting of Hobbits, Dwobbits, and Skinchangers. It _had_ to be someone with intimate knowledge of the Shire.

Gorbadoc gnashed his teeth in anger; he had also reached that conclusion and he had his suspicions of just who it was, but it was so unlike the nature of Hobbits for someone to do something so horrific.

They had found the mangled remains of Lilah Tunnely within an enclosed basket that had drifted ashore of the Brandywine River. It could have only been her since his good friend, Peaseblossom, had requested that he search for her lost daughter who had been missing for days. It wasn’t unheard of for a fauntling to go for a walk as they would often find a neighboring home to rest at before returning home, but Lilah had never returned to her mother, who just so happened to be the Clerk of Kinships of Michel Delving. One of the few Hobbits outside of the Tooks, Baggins, and Potts who knew about the mixed breeding of the Brandybucks and who now had a threat poised against her her family.

The Mayor of Michel Delving always held a bitter grudge against the two largest families of the Shire; Michel Delving may have been the Capital of the Shire, but it held little influence outside of its own borders. Gorbadoc had butted heads frequently with Peter Potts over the history of the Brandybucks, and he had often wondered if that negativity had passed on to the current Mayor, Payton Potts. He had little interaction with the son, since Orgulas had always been the more diplomatic one to handle such meetings, but he did recall that his brother reported Payton being more of a hot head than his father had been.

The thing was, Gorbadoc really didn’t _want_ it to be Payton.

He couldn’t very well march in to Michel Delving and demand to see the Mayor as he was now; Gorbadoc was already over one hundred years old and though he didn’t show it, that would make the Hobbits of Michel Delving suspicious enough. He couldn’t even send Luna nor Rorimac as they were both well-past the age of majority for Hobbits, but he could send someone who _looked_ like one of his children.

“Briar, could you pay the Mayor of Michel Delving a visit? As much as I don’t want to admit it, he’s the only one with such knowledge and motive to be behind this.” He asked his sister, who was currently running her hands through Luna’s hair.

“Can I break any of his bones if he is?” Briar replied, fingers itching to get any bit of vengeance.

“Only if it looks like an accident. You’re the closest in resemblance to Asphodel, so there should be little in your way to stop you from gaining an audience with him.”

“Excellent.”

 

 

**  
_Erebor_ **

Balin met with Bifur at the the main gate leading out of Erebor. He left a note for the King and the King’s Council explaining his reason for leaving, and made his way to join the others who were ready to make the journey to the Shire. He was absolutely devastated by the news brought to him by his father. He had kept in contact with Orgulas Brandybuck since they were but young lads, eager to learn all they could about advising a King. Orgulas never outright stated that there was a King in the Shire, but he did insist that he could use the experience should one ever step forward to claim the empty throne.

He didn’t know if Bifur knew the details of the tragedy behind their reason for answering the call of their kin, but he knew that Bifur was an old friend of a relative of the Brandybucks. All he could say was that Orgulas had had his Mastery taken from him before Bifur let out a shout of outrage that had the other miners clamoring forward to hear more.

There were very few crimes more blasphemous than a Mastery being forcefully taken from a Dwarf. Half Dwarf or no, the goblins had made an even fiercer enemy of the Dwarrows of Erebor.

“Lord Balin! What a mighty surprise this is to see one of Nobles join us on our venture!” Bofur exclaimed.

“Just Balin is fine, Mister Bofur. My good friend was the son of the King who requests for aid and I’ll not let the request go unheard.”

“Aye, that I can understand. I’ve heard of the Hobbit folk from the other Traders in the Merchant Guild. They’re a gentle people, but have always been fair with their prices with our kind. It’s not right what has happened to them.”

Balin nodded and moved to mount the pony that a miner brought for him. He wouldn’t have believed it if anyone but his father had told him that most of the miners in Erebor were of Oldbuck descent. Then again, he wasn’t as knowledgeable about the ancestors of the past as his father was and his father was more privy to those very secrets.

The Raven that has been assigned to his father, Karnok, landed on his shoulder.

“Dáin is coming,” he chortled, “and he’s bringing a quarter of the Iron Hill’s army with him.”

Balin’s eyes went wide as relief and pride swelled within him. Their number from Erebor only ranged in the low hundreds and he knew that even a quarter of Dáin’s army was at least an additional five or six hundred. This was the best news he’d received all week!

A sudden thump to his back had him almost jumping from his saddle.

“Planning to leave without me, brother?”

_Ah, drat._

Of course Dwalin was going to come. Orgulas was his friend too and despite the many responsibilities that he and his brother had, honoring their deceased comrade was currently the highest priority. Balin’s smile was forced as he turned about on his pony to face his brother, who apparently was already on his own pony and fully packed to go.

“Just wondering what took you so long to join us.” He stated and glanced around to see if there was anyone else he knew that would be coming with them. “I will admit I’m surprised that none of the Royal Family decided to volunteer; especially Thorin or Frerin.”

“Och, well...Thorin doesn’t entirely understand the situation. He knows we’re honorbound, but cannot fathom why so many volunteer their lives for such a weak people--don’t hit me! Those are his words! Not mine!” The burly dwarf ducked his brother’s fist and nudged his mount forward. “Anyway, we’d best be off while the weather conditions remain good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to split this chapter since there's a lot of research I still need to do. Let me know if you liked it and thanks for reading!


	10. Blood Part 2

A mournful wail cut through the silent night within the Grand Smial of Brandy Hall.

Mirabella Brandybuck sobbed heavily against the quilted cover of her son’s bed. It had been two weeks since his return from captivity and while she knew in her heart that he was Fading, she had yet to accept that as her reality. He still ate his meals, played with his siblings, and attended his studies like before, so she dismissed the fact that something was wrong even though the signs were there. Yes, he ate when it was time to, but he ate very little and would asked to be excused to rest in his room. He played with his siblings, but his eyes were glassy and unseeing, much like they were when it was time for lessons.

She had gone to check on him and sat beside him on his bed, one hand on his chest and the other running fingers through his hair. It took her a moment of just laying quietly when she noticed the lack of a rise and fall of his chest.

“Dodinas?” She whispered, tears filling her eyes when he didn’t respond. Her hands trembled as she gently held his face in her hands and pressed her cheek against his lips, hoping and praying for a sign that there was still a breath left in his body. When none came, she stumbled back in shock.

“No, no, no. Please, not my baby! Not my son!” She begged to whatever Valar would hear her. “My baby...not my baby...no!”

The door to the room swung open and Gorbadoc was immediately at her side to take her into his arms.

“Let me go, Gorba! We have to get a healer!”

“He’s gone, Mira.” He said, eyes wet with tears and a bitter acceptance in his heart.

He recognized the Fading for what it was and had begun to make his peace with it the moment they returned from the Barrow-Downs. There were some things that were too traumatic for a tween to face and no matter what they did to help him, treating things as though they could go back to how things were hadn’t helped. As a father, he did his best to talk to his son; Hildigard’s death was no one’s fault but the goblins and Wights that took him from them. He often tried to encourage Dodinas to keep living, but he saw how his boy’s heart was no longer with them. Dodinas and Hildigard were thick as thieves and both had set their sights on the Captain’s rank of the Bounders; they had such hopes before their abduction.

“How can you say that?! We can still… we can call for the Elvish healers! They have magic! They can--” She was cut off by the tightening of her husband’s embrace and fought to escape him. “Let go of me! My son needs me! He needs help!”

“He needs to be returned to Stone, Mira. He’s been leaving us since his return, you know that.”

It was a harsh truth that he had to accept as both a parent and a future King.

“ _No!_ How can you give up so easily?! He’s our son! He’s--Oh, my baby... _my baby is gone!”_ Mirabella wailed as though her heart had been ripped from her chest, and in a way, it had been. Their children were destined for more than a short life with so little achieved.

 

Down the hall, her other children began to wake and cry as her words reached them.

“Namad? Namad, is Dodinas gone?” Little Primula climbed into her eldest sister’s bed and wrapped her tiny arms around her.

She was soon joined by Asphodel who helped rouse their protector from sleep.

Luna’s eyes opened slowly and turned to embrace her younger sisters. She let them cry in her arms after nodding in confirmation. Truthfully, Luna was unable to cry at this time; she was numb to the news and wanted nothing more than to believe this was all a bad dream. But based off the sounds coming from the next room over, this was an awful dream she’d remember for a long time.

Beryl could hear the girls crying through the wall while she held her nephews close. Amaranth, Saradas, and Donidas buried their faces against her chest, their sobs breaking her heart with every stuttered breath and she wept alongside them. Her oldest nephew, Rorimac, had yet to leave his own bed to join them. He was silent and brooding, eyes trained on the floor and hands curled into fists.

Rorimac was furious with himself every since he had heard the news of Dodinas and Hildigard’s abduction. _He_ was supposed to have gone with Luna and Uncle Orgulas to Tookborough, but had chosen to play hooky from responsibilities that he felt were beneath him. If _he_ had gone instead, Orgulas would have had a better chance of preventing the younger tweens from being taken captive.

He was in his forties for Mahal’s sake! Well past the age of a child for a Hobbit and damn near an adult for a Dwarf. There was a reason why his father and sister trained him to think for himself _and he should have known better!_ Now that his grandfather had taken his place as King of the Shire, Rorimac was an heir to the throne and he found his lack of action to be despicable; he _knew_ the importance of his sister’s responsibilities. He _knew_ and still gave himself a day off to do what?

He didn’t even train or review his lessons; he just lazed about and played with Farmer Maggot’s hounds. He had the most non-productive day where he didn’t even bother to contribute to his country’s well-being, and that was the most damning thought that had disappointment building within him.

Fed up with himself, he abruptly stood from his bed and left the room. He didn’t care where he was going; he just had to get out of the Smial and away from the cries of his grieving family. So caught up in his own thoughts, he found himself at the Brandybuck Training Ground.

“Why are you out here in your night shirt, Rori? You’ll catch a cold, know.”

His sister’s voice startled him and he spun about to face her.

The first thing he noticed was her eyes; they were weary with grief and she was frowning at him from where she stood. She had changed from her own night shirt into a tunic, vest, and trousers.

“Looks like you were planning on getting out of there too,” he snapped in reply. He hadn’t wanted company even though he knew better than to leave on his own.

“You’re so similar to me that it hurts,” she stated and walked past him to grab the dull swords that were often used for training. “Getting mad at yourself for things you can’t control is pointless. It’ll eat at you until any past decisions you made will be nothing compared to the poor decisions you’ll make with the way you are now.”

He easily caught the sword she tossed to him and stared at her in confusion.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Use that brain that Mahal gifted you with and release your frustrations, obviously.” She said and took an offensive stance across from him. “Fight me. You’re restless and angry and hurt. Staying at home would have made you do something you’ll regret later.”

Rorimac did a few practice swings before getting into his own stance.

“Oh and you just happen to know all about regrets, wouldn’t you? You’re practically perfect!”

“Perfection isn’t as useful as you think it is,” she replied before taking a few quick steps forward and slapped the blade against his thigh, making him hiss at the brief pain that blossomed there.

“That’s not fair! I wasn’t ready yet!” He said with a grimace and went on the defensive.

“Very little is fair, nadadith, and torturing yourself with ‘what-ifs’ will not help you.”

“What would you know? I lost a brother tonight!” He said with a snarl, parrying her next swing before the hilt of her sword clipped the side of his head. “Mahalul zharmur khurûh, that hurts! Why do you always go for my ears?”

“Because you do nothing to defend your obvious weakness. And did you forget who helped raise the lot of you? You think you’re alone in your grief? Come on Rorimac, I taught you better than this!”

There were no more words besides grunts and short cries of pain as Luna let go; she showed her little brother no mercy whether or not she was on the offensive or defensive. This was something that the Dwalin in her previous life had done for her after one of her more infamous arguments with some Dwarven Noble who accused her of being a danger to the Royal Family of Erebor. Dwalin had beaten the snot out of her when she was wallowing in guilt and anger; the violence was cathartic in its own way, drawing out emotions that should not have been left to fester within her.

Much like herself, Rorimac was giving as much as he got. Twice he had managed to hit what would have been vital points if their blades were not dull. He looked almost triumphant until her fist caught him in the solar plexus and he went down with a wheezing cough. He lay on the ground, his body shaking with the efforts to breathe correctly after getting the wind knocked out of him.

“Do you yield?” Luna said while leaning on the hilt of her sword like a cane. Her tone was bored, but her eyes were as hard as diamonds while she stared down her temporarily downed brother.

“Kyf?” Her brother coughed and lifted his head to meet her gaze. “Why are you so unaffected unlike the rest of us?” He shakily got to his feet, only to stumble forward into her waiting arms.

“Oh nadadith,” she mumbled with a kiss to his brow. “My heart is as weary as yours, but I cannot let myself be so reckless. There’s so much more ahead of us that we do not know, so I set aside the feelings until I have use for them. It’s how I wasn’t a complete mess when Ugmil ’adad ordered me to go after Dodinas and Hildigard. They needed me at my best even when I wasn’t feeling it.”

They fell silent while she quietly held him. Rorimac let out a pained sigh and wrapped his arms around his sister, face pressed against her vest while his shoulders shook with sobs.

_“I’m so sorry, namad.”_

 

When Briar Brandybuck returned to the Grand Smial of Buckland, it was with her Uncle Gundabald right on her heels and the two were rapidly signing in Iglishmêk. They didn’t dare speak in Common nor in Khuzdul from their trip to Michel Delving with the information they now knew.

“Nadad! Gorbadoc!” She bellowed from the front entrance after setting down her pack by the door.

She was quickly swarmed by dwobbitlings greeting her as they emerged from their rooms to help her with her things. Donidas and Saradas were climbing up Gundabald’s legs to beg for sweet treats while the elder dwobbits waded through the scrambling children.

“Briar!” Gorbadoc easily navigated through his rowdy offspring to greet his sister. “Did everything go alright? What news do you bring?”

There was a large _thwump!_ sound as Gundabald was toppled by Gorbadoc’s children who discovered the candies in his pockets. He gestured for Briar to go on while he would stay and occupy the children for the time being.

Briar nodded and led her brother away to his study and shut the door behind her. As soon as they were seated, she told him of her confrontation with the Mayor of Michel Delving. It had taken breaking seven out of his ten fingers to wrangle the truth out of him, but he had indeed sold out information of the Shire to what had looked like something resembling a goblin.

“The hatred in his eyes for us was unrelenting, nadad. He honestly believed he was doing the right thing by giving us up in order to protect the other Hobbits.”

“All this over jealousy of our longevity? Was the boy dropped on his head?” Gorbadoc said in exasperation as he paced about in the room.

“His influence only goes as far as the perimeter of Michel Delving; his envy quickly grew to jealousy what with Adad taking his rightful place as King. All Hobbits _know_ we have a King, but it’s different when it’s spoken aloud.” Briar rubbed at her face with her hands.

By Durin, but she was tired. So much had happened since Orgulas’ death that she had yet to wrap her head around the fact that she was an heir to a forgotten throne. Not that she had intentions of claiming it for herself; there was currently an abundance of heirs running around Buckland as it was.

“Still...we are the first line of defense! It makes no sense to do away with us to leave the Shire open for slaughter! I swear, the education in Michel Delving must have declined drastically these past few decades if the lad doesn’t have the foresight to see how bad of an idea it would be to take away the Shire’s primary defenders.”

“He seemed to be convinced that the Rangers had greater numbers than were led to believe,” Briar said, eyes rolling with the Mayor’s naiveté. “It seems they no longer teach history there either with that logic.”

She continued to tell him of the other secrets she had managed to discover from the pitiful Payton Potts. He had told the enemy of the walking paths that led away from the main roads, many of which were gaps that their patrols had ignored. Also the enemy had to be a hybrid of some kind to meet with the Mayor in the first place; no goblin could withstand the light of day and very few hobbits were likely to be out and about after dark.

“Oh wonderful. That’s just absolutely _fantastic!_ ” Gorbadoc grumbled and clenched his fists in anger. “Just what we needed...hybrid goblins that can move around during the day! Is there anything else you wish to shock me with before I go take a turn in Adad’s forge?”

Marmadoc had two forges; one was for his serious works and the other was for literally breaking failed works. Many a Brandybuck used the second to vent out their frustrations, much like Luna did when she tore it apart after Orgulas’ passing.

“You do know there’s a line for that now” Briar said absently, “Fortunately, I was able to get us a timeline for the attack. We have, at most, three more weeks before the main goblin horde descends from the mountains. I do not know the amount that come, but I do not doubt they will vastly outnumber us until help arrives.”

“Mahalul Tarâg!” Gorbadoc muttered before pinning his younger sister with a glare. “That was a rhetorical question, by the way, but thank you for the information.” He breathed deeply until he calmed himself and slumped down into his chair. “How many from Bree have volunteered to help us?”

“Less than a hundred. What they like in quantity, they make up for in quality. Those that volunteered have Broadbeam and Firebeard blood within them. They require little training and know Bree-Land like the backs of their hands.”

This was surprisingly good news for them. They had hopes that the major fighting would be done away from the Shire. The Lone Lands and Weather Hills would be their best strategic advantage since they could post up at Weathertop while their back-up supplies could remain in Bree. The Brandybucks had a longstanding alliance with the town as they tended to share the excess of their crops with them in exchange for information from the outside world.

“What of Combe and Scaddle? Archet?” He asked as he pulled out a map of Eriador. His sister assisted him in pinning down the corners on his study desk and they surveyed the areas he mentioned.

“Master Svoren sent word to them shortly after we told him the message your raven gave us,” she said. At the blank stare her brother gave her, she explained. “He’s a Broadbeam in charge of the Merchants Guild in Bree. Archet should have adequate protection as going that far north makes little sense and the citizens of Combe are close enough to join them if we get pushed back that far. I wouldn’t expect much help from the towns of Men unless the threat was on their doorstep, so for now, Scaddle is on standby. They have tunnels that lead into Bree, and have offered to assist with supply runs.”

“Better than nothing, I suppose. Maybe we can ask them to set up traps as far as the edges of the Midgewater Marsh in case the enemy chooses to go that way. At least with the Raven Relay Team we’ll have some kind of warning.” Gorbadoc grabbed a pen and marked the area. “Speaking of the relay, Raucous brought news from Karnok; Dáin and Dwarrows from Erebor have answered the call.”

“The Raven that absolutely hates your guts willingly brought good news for once? That’s a surprise. I didn’t realize Adad had connections that went as far as the Iron Hills,” Briar said, impressed that actual warriors chose to come.

“It’s less Adad and more of Irak’Adad Gundabald’s influence, I think.”

Their Uncle Gundabald Bolger was the oldest of their father’s cousins as he was nearing his three-hundredth and fifty-third winter and was more Dwarf than Hobbit to their knowledge. He was descended from the line of Durin I and his name was to honor his ancestors’ origins from Mount Gundabad, the birthplace of Durin’s Folk. They didn’t know too much about him other than he went off to some grand battle years ago and returned much too quiet. He personally declared himself as the official Bounders Trainer as well as accepted the position of a Squad Leader and remained quiet ever since.

“Well, old people tend to know everyone at some point,” said Briar before pulling out a map of the Shire from her pocket. “I’ve marked the walking paths that I mentioned before…”

 

It took a few days of discussing their plans with the Firebeard and Broadbeam descendants, but preparations for both the defense and evacuation of the Shire were well underway. Master Svoren almost outright rejected the idea of making the Grey Havens their last resort as a final stand before Gundabald literally slapped some sense into him, stating he would be one of the Dwobbits to remain in Buckland to cover the retreat if it were to happen. This interaction had Marmadoc groaning in disgust before tossing his cousin a few coins to honor their prior bet that the other Dwarrow were more likely to listen to a warrior over a King.

Gorbadoc rolled his eyes at his family’s childishness and took over orders of managing their plans; he gestured for his father and uncle to go elsewhere. Particularly in the direction of his eldest children who had been frequenting the Training Ground as often as they could.

“Your grandchildren are brooding something fierce as of late,” commented Gundabald from his seat at the bench outside of the Training Pen.

“They’re Durins. Of course they’re brooding!” Marmadoc said with a wince when Luna sent her brother flailing after knocking the sword from his hands.

“Kakhuf inbarathrag!” Rorimac spat out before launching himself at his sister.

Luna laughed and caught his head with her hand, his arms swinging wildly since her reach was longer than his own. She had to give it to him though, he was actually managing to make her take a step back, but he was still such a brat. When his muscles bunched to make another push to attack her, she dropped her sword, deftly stepped aside and grinned when he was sent sprawling forward.

“Me dubul ma samnirmî kasab du zantulbasn bintablagi,” she said snidely before grasping him by the seat of his trousers and the shirt on his back. With a grunt, she lifted and threw him clear out of the pen. His shout of indignation at being thrown was music to her ears.

“It seems whatever it was they were brooding about has been cleared from their minds. That’s more sibling rivalry than languishing over the past,” came a voice from behind the elder Dwobbits.

Sirius plopped down on the ground beside them, Donidas hanging off his shoulder as it was his turn for babysitting duty. He and his brother were alternating watching the younger Dwobbits while the adults did what they had to.

“Indeed,” said Gundabald, valiantly trying to ignore the way his cousin was cackling in glee over the brawling of their younger kin.

“I taught them that, did you know? Best not to let Mirabella get wind of this or she’ll skin me alive,” Marmadoc said with a mischievous grin.

Sirius let out a barking laugh and shook back his mane of shaggy hair. It never ceased to amaze him how as bad as things were, the Brandybucks were able to find the tiniest bit of joy during hard times. It seemed they were incapable of remaining in a bad mood for too long and if one managed to, one of their kin was quick to nip it in the bud.

“And where are your many siblings this fine day, my boy?” Gundabald asked the young skinchanger beside him.

“Doing their part in keeping the hobbitlings safe, of course. Rachna said it would be good if they showed the evacuation routes as a game for the young ones. They’ll already know where to go if things go poorly," said Sirius with a grim smile.

It was inevitable that things would.

They were vastly outnumbered according to their Ravens and they were damn well aware of it. The most that the majority of hobbits--who were nowhere near being ready for battle--could do was to get away. The new Mayor of Michel Delving, Walter Whitfoot, already had his citizens preparing for the waves of retreating hobbits. He also had a contracted agreement with the lords of New Belegost to help them escape as far as the Grey Havens where the Elves there would be on standby for aid. They were to be the last of their forces to defend the Hobbits if it came down to it; no one liked the situation, but they were forced to make do with what they had for the time being.

It was no great secret that the Shire was probably the easiest land to conquer. If not for their alliance with the Rangers and the Huorns of the Old Forest, they would have been wiped out long ago. The only reason why other races didn’t try and invade was primarily because the Shire produced a massive amount of excess crops that were given to those who needed it. It would be a monumentally bad idea for anyone to bite the hand that literally fed them.

“I see. Your sister must be a great leader to command so many in her Pack; we’re still waiting for more to arrive, correct?” Marmadoc had calmed down and decided to join the conversation after sending his grandchildren off.

“She is that,” agreed Sirius, who was closer to Rachna than Wülf. “There’s nearly one hundred and fifty skinchangers in her Pack. Most are wolves like us, but there’s some cantankerous badgers that even I wouldn’t want to cross on a good day.” He patted the top of Donidas’ head, who had fallen asleep in his lap. “The badgers are the ones escorting your kin from the East. There’s roughly eighty of us here to do what we can, but the remaining wolves are scouting the walking paths Briar told us about.”

That was currently their biggest concern since Wülf had tracked foreign foul-smelling scents from the paths all the way up to the Ettenmoors. Now that was an utterly terrifying thought as just northeast of the Ettenmoors was Mount Gundabad, the current stronghold of Orcs. The last thing they needed were more enemies than the one they already had and they still didn’t have the slightest notion of how many _those_ numbered.

Truly they had been dealt the worst of hands and now all they could do was wait for the wave of violence to descend upon them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations:  
> Kakhuf inbarathrag - goat dung  
> Kyf - why  
> Mahalul zharmur khurûh - Mahal's hairy balls  
> Mahalul Tarâg! - Mahal's Beard!  
> Me dubul ma samnirmî kasab du zantulbasn bintablagi - You are so simple you could't sell a pie to a starving hobbit  
> Nadad - brother  
> Nadadith - brother who is young/little brother  
> Namad - sister  
> Ugmil ’adad - grandfather


	11. Comanche

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me.

“I hate waiting.”

Luna was crouched atop one of the many broken platforms of Amon Sûl, eyes trained on the dark edges of the Trollshaws. It had taken them a rushed couple of days to set up camp between Bree and Weathertop, but they wanted to be as prepared as possible. She was on the night watch with her great-uncle Gundabald as they had the sharpest eyes out of the group.

“Would you rather be down below with the ground scouts?” He said with a pat to her knee and a head tilt to the land below them.

“Durin’s beard, _no_. There’s barely any cover for them if things do go badly. It’s just…” she huffed much like a chicken with ruffled feathers, “I don't want to be in a battle...but waiting on the edge of one I can't escape is even worse.”

“You sound like a Took,” Gundabald said with a grumble before smiling grimly. “Aye, I’ll admit that we’ve been dealt a bad hand, but it’s the one we’ve got. As mad in the head as Marmadoc is, he’s formed a solid plan. He’s got the Brandybuck Spark and Durin Steel within him; most of us will live through this ordeal, you mark my words.”

The Brandybuck Spark was something known in the Shire as both a blessing and a curse. Brandybucks were notorious for being mischief makers and a general cause of headaches within the Shire. On the upside, they had a knack for getting out of a pinch in the most inconvenient ways possible which was what Gundabald was hoping for this time around. The Durin Steel bit was both literally and figuratively accurate; Marmadoc had spent many of his early years in the Iron Hills where he was born. He had been personally trained under Lord Dáin in the ways of combat and was deemed a Master Blacksmith by the time he and his family decided to return to the Shire. The Master of Buckland was crafty in every sense of the word.

A piercing whistle rang through the air.

It was a warning from the scouts; they saw something at the edge of the Trollshaws. Luna bit her lip in irritation. She had wanted to go see if the cave with the swords from Gondolin existed back when she first became a Bounder, but never found the time. She felt like that particular lack of action had come back to bite her in the ass.

A mass of screeches answered back and Luna was on her feet. She knew her role and took off towards the other end of watchtower ruins, her great-uncle on her heels.

“Adad!” She shouted, weaving between the people gathered at the base of the ruins.

“I know. We heard them,” Gorbadoc said. “Archers! Get in position! Get those catapults loaded!” He gestured to the assorted Bounders, who were suddenly struck with fear. “NOW!” He roared and they rushed to obey his orders. “Luna, Gunda, you’re with me.”

They ran back up to the top of the hill, grabbing the bows and quiver of arrows they had stashed there the day before. They took position with the line of archers that stood at the edge of the ruins. They held off on drawing their arrows until Gunda gave them the go ahead; it would be a waste if they fired before the goblins were in range. They waited patiently, listening intently beyond the sound of the catapults being pulled forward into position and the rumble of the ground as their enemy approached.

“Draw arrows!” Gundabald barked, eyes tracking the movement of the horde. There weren’t any obvious ranks he could see as they were moving in one solid mass that moved like a slithering snake in the darkness of the East Road. He waited until they were within range until giving the order. “Do _not_ stop firing until you are out of arrows! Scouting team, you’re in charge of the catapults. Once your quivers are empty, take your mount and alert the troops in the Weather Hills. Got all that? Good. FIRE!”

A volley of arrows rained down from the top of the ruins. Most met their mark before being shortly followed up with another. They had initially wanted to use fire arrows, but their plan relied on them being quick and silent to maximize the amount of lives saved on their end.

The first archers who emptied their quivers quickly retreated to their waiting mounts; the remaining archers fired their last arrows before rushing to the hastily built catapults and pulled the levers. Morningstars the size of horses were hurled through the air; they were personally crafted by Marmadoc, who got the idea from Luna’s tantrum that nearly destroyed his testing workshop. They were outrageously heavy and the catapults themselves were only able to launch up to three before they buckled from the staggering weight. This was also purposely planned by the Master of Buckland who wanted to give the enemy no advantage even after the contraptions were abandoned.

Luna whistled sharply once the the catapults collapsed on themselves, and her trusty war ram Abe came running. She was desperately trying to ignore the outraged cries of their enemy as they relentlessly kept approaching. She had to remain as calm as possible and grabbed one of Abe’s horns and pulled herself onto his back; she held out a hand for Gundabald to help him up. The other Bounders would not leave without them as they had the best eyesight in the darkness and could lead them safely through the Weather Hills.

Many of the Bounders had doubled up on ponies and other war rams, their mounts anxiously stamping their feet as if awaiting the signal to bolt at a moment’s notice. Once Gorbadoc was astride his own ram, he nodded to her and she kicked her heels against Abe’s sides. Their small defense party took off at a dead-run towards the Weather Hills, Luna and Gundabald at the front with her father taking up the rear. Those on ponies were guided by Isengrim Took, who had the most experience in handling the Rohan-bred ponies; they followed his lead as they avoided gopher holes and half-buried boulders. Although they, the Took Bounders, had little experience in war, they had always worked well in a partnership with the Brandybuck Bounders. And it was this long term alliance that they were heavily depending on to get through this battle alive. 

“Rachna! Sirius! Now!” Gorbadoc roared as they approached the edges of the Weather Hills.

A cacophony of howls echoed around them, spurring their mounts to quicken their pace in a frenzy as several dozen skinchangers in their wolf forms poured from the hills to cover their retreat.

They had been lying in wait within the Hills, using some of the intact smials that had been created in the Wandering Days. Sirius had personally told them the tale of Hildigard Took and Dodinas Brandybuck and the mere thought of any youngling being forced into such horrible trauma had them nearly frothing at the mouth with a need for vengeance. Skinchangers had no love for the spawns of the Enemy; they had their own history of their young being abducted and used as entertainment or food for the goblins of the Misty Mountains. And since Sirius had personally cared for the Fading Dodinas, this part of Mormadoc’s plan was _infinitely personal._

While his elder sister Rachna was the strongest out of the Packs, Sirius was born for speed. He rocketed passed his kin, jaws open wide and eyes gleaming with fire that actually stopped some of the goblins from charging. He had watched over Dodinas from the time of his birth to just before his death and that pain ached in his bones. He remembered the fear from his past life; the agonizing terror that Peter was so close to Harry that it drove him to behave so recklessly. Right now, he was lost to the feel of skin tearing open under his claws, of his teeth shattering bone and sinew, the sounds of snarls and growls of his kin wreaking havoc on the goblin scum. He heard a familiar howl and spotted streak of silver tearing through the left flank of the goblins who had turned to try and flee; Remus was on a rampage.

True to his new name, Wülf held back nothing as black blood splattered against his vibrant pelt. He had personally seen the dismemberment of Hildigard Took and the memory had not left him. The terrified and enraged screams of the goblins he was tearing apart paled in comparison to the final moment of Hildigard’s end. Gone was the gentleness of his previous life spent as Remus Lupin, who never dared to embrace his werewolf side. He was every bit the wolf he had been reborn into, using his instincts to pull back and rejoin his kin in a brutal attack wave of claws and fangs.

Rachna barked sharp and high, signaling it was time to fall back and recover their strength now that Gorba and the others had cleared the Weather Hills to retreat to Bree.

“Sirius!” She snarled in their mother tongue, “Enough! We have to go _now!_ ”

She had pushed through the panicked goblins and grabbed her brother by the scruff of his neck to haul him back. The grip of her jaw on him was just barely on the edge of gentle and she purposely nicked him with her fangs to get his attention.

“Fine,” he growled until she released him. He let out a series of barks and yips that got ahold of Wülf’s attention, directing him and their kin to follow the order to retreat.

 

**_East Road--One Day Later_ **

 

They had made it past the Misty Mountains in good time.

Dáin kept glancing towards the direction of the scouting party lead by his son, Thorin III, hoping to catch news of where they were meant to go. Karnok, the raven who had directed them thus far, had gone with his son as a guide. The last bit of news they had received was shortly before they left from re-supplying in Rivendell: the goblins had launched an attack and were met with a small defense force at Weathertop. He, Dwalin, and Balin had demanded to know why the Elves had not offered their assistance as they were the nearest allies to the Shire. It both impressed and aggravated them to learn that the Master of Buckland asked that the Elves should not risk their warriors, but to be ready with medicinal supplies as Healers would be greatly needed more so than fighters.

Even now, Dáin was still cursing the soft-hearted Marmadoc for being so foolish while simultaneously hoping that the idiotic King of the Shire was still safe. He wouldn’t have felt so distraught if he hadn’t had trained the lad himself, but alas...he had trained the stubborn bull of a boy. And even he, the Lord of the Iron Hills, would have refused aid from Elves out of spite rather than necessity.

“Idiot boy,” he mumbled as he double-checked the bags on his pony.

“Orgulas did say that his Adad was a bit...ah, _cracked_ as it were,” Balin commented, knowing just what Dáin had been musing aloud.

“Ha! Marmadoc was a stubborn old goat as a dwarfling and I doubt much has changed from then!” Dáin chuckled and stroked his beard absently.

“Maybe so dear cousin,” Balin nodded, “but he is also the holder of the largest trade agreement among the known Kingdoms. And from what Orgulas had told me, that knowledge had been passed down amongst his children and grandchildren should he ever return to Stone.”

“The lad has brains, I’ll give him that much--”

A warbled chirp  came from above their heads, catching their attention. A magpie swept in low and landed on Balin’s shoulder like a perch. It spread open its wings and bowed low before intelligent eyes locked onto Dáin’s.

“I bring news from Gundabald Bolger of Buckland,” came its raspy voice.

“Why does that name sound so familiar?” Dáin asked.

Bifur, who had been listening nearby, sprang to his feet and signed to them in rapid Iglishmêk: _“It’s Gundabad Boldur. He fought with us at Azanulbizar and is my friend.”_

“Yes, _that_ Gundabald,” the magpie confirmed impatiently. “They’re leading the goblins to the Brandy Hills north of the Old Forest. There’s a contingent of Bounders and Skinchangers north of Bree that are awaiting your arrival to join and guide you. My Lord and King Marmadoc has been doing everything he can to prevent the enemy from reaching the Shire as some of its residents have yet to flee to Ered Luin.”

Dáin and Balin’s eyes grew wider with every word and they were stunned speechless at the cleverness of the Master of Buckland.

“I thought we were meeting with them at Amon Sûl?” Balin asked in confusion. Those were the directions they had originally been given during their brief stay in Imladris. “What happened there?”

The magpie cackled and preened its feathers.

“See for yourself. It’s a twenty minute ride from where you are now, but you should hurry if you’re rested enough. Once the Horn of Buckland sounds off, the real battle begins and they’ll need all the help they can get.”

“Balin, get your brother and roundup the Royal Guard. Bifur, let the others know we’re breaking camp to meet up with the scouting party,” Dáin instructed. “We’ll not wait for anyone if they fall behind. Make sure they know that.”

The other three Dwarrow nodded and promptly did as they were told; they were as anxious as Dáin to know what had altered the plan they had previously been given. Fortunately, the camp was more of a rest stop and packing up the rations was finished in no time. Once they were mounted atop their ponies, the magpie took to the sky, his warbling cry leading them towards the old watchtower.

 

“By Mahal,” Dwalin breathed in awe at the sight that lay before them once the ruins came into view.

Other than the rampant stench of decaying goblish flesh, there were dozens upon dozens of arrows littering the open plain leading up to the ruins. But what had their army in a titter were the the gigantic morningstars that had left small craters in the ground. They were much too large to have been thrown by any dwarf or hobbit; the massive creations stood at least two feet taller than themselves and were as wide as a boat! From what they could see, there were twelve in total, each as massive and as fatal as they looked by the damage done to the deceased goblins that lay beneath and around them.

“I doubt anything could have held this weight for long,” commented Bofur to his cousin as they rode past the lethal marvels.

 _“True enough. It would snap under the force of launching it,”_ Bifur signed back in reply.

“I think that was the point,” came the voice of Thorin III as they reached the ruins themselves. He paused a moment to greet his father before pointing to the demolished catapults that looked like they had buckled from too much overuse. There was nothing that could have been salvaged from it as it had also been burned.

“What else have you found, Thorin?” Dáin asked as his son led them away from Weathertop towards the Weather Hills.

“Destruction. Karnok had said that the Skinchangers were allies of the Master of Buckland, but I had not been expecting such devastation. There’s at least a hundred or more dead ahead of us and looks as if they were quite literally shred to pieces.”

Thorin Stonehelm had been in skirmishes before, but his eyes were still new to the carnage of a wild animal attack at this scale.He led the army through the Hills and let them see just what he had been talking about while his father filled him in on the new orders given to them. And by Gundabad Boldur no less!

Gundabad was nearly as legendary as the Mountain he was named after. While they were nearly all Durin’s folk in both the Iron Hills and Erebor, Gundabad could trace his lineage directly to their ancestor. His existence alone was a mystery for the Ages; no one knew where he resided when he wasn’t in a battle nor if he had any family to call his own.

Except for now since Karnok and the magpie, Dag, decided to drop that little tidbit of information during their travel towards Bree.

“He’s known to the hobbits as Gundabald Bolger,” Karnok said between eating nuts out of Bifur’s hand. “His older brother, Gundahad, looked old enough to have fathered him so they chose that as their back story when they chose Buckland as their home.”

“I have a feeling your skimming over years of history here, Karnok.” Balin chided the young raven.

“Of course I am! If you want the history of the remnants of Durin’s Folk of Buckland, you’re better off asking Master Gundabald in person.” Karnok replied back with what sounded like a sneer.

“Exactly how old _is_ Master Gundabad?” Dwalin wanted to know, voicing the question they were all thinking.

“Heck if I know. He was born before my time,” Karnok chortled before he was knocked off his perch on Bifur’s arm by his magpie companion.

“No one _really_ knows,” said Dag. “Master Marmadoc is roughly sixty years your junior, right Lord Dáin?”

“Just about,” Dáin said.

“Well Master Gundabald is about one hundred and fifty years older than Master Mormadoc,” Dag said and cackled at their stunned expressions. “And he doesn’t look a day over ninety in Dwarf years!”

The members of the army within hearing distance all looked pointedly at Balin, who was the most knowledgeable in such things, causing him to huff with annoyance.

“Come now, you all know the stories of how Durin’s kin were long lived! Just because it’s a legend doesn’t mean there wasn’t some truth to it!”

 

 

**_Buckland--Shores of the Brandywine_ **

 

Gundabald let out a mighty sneeze that nearly rocked him off his feet.

The steady hand at his back was what kept him falling and he glanced over his shoulder at his nephew, who was eyeing him with a raised brow and inquisitive stare.

“I thought you said Dwarrow never got sick?” Gorba asked with a smirk.

“We don’t! I’m just allergic to whatever fruity mix is in the oil we’re burning!” He shot back and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “Get back to work, boy!”

“Grumpy old goat,” Gorbadoc said with a roll of his eyes and turned his attention back to redirecting the oncoming goblin horde farther north of the Old Forest.

Before they had ventured to Weathertop, the Buckland Bounders had poured oil along the shores of the Brandywine River. When they had crossed the river from Bree not two days ago, they had set the oil aflame to deter the enemy from pushing into The Shire. Buckland had been effectively sealed off by the Huorns of the Old Forest; the trees roots and branches were so closely intertwined that there was no going through them. Add that to the temperament of the Huorns themselves--they were a bit like the Whomping Willow on steroids--and Buckland was as safe as can be.

They much rathered that the enemy be forced towards the Brandy Hills where more of their allied forces were ready to do battle. Gorbadoc and Gundabald opted to remain in Buckland to make sure their plan was succeeding for the most part; the Day-Goblins--and boy, was that one a shocker despite knowing about it beforehand--had made an attempt to cross the shallow end of the river. Gorba gave the order to light the oil and the pathway of fire spanned from the edges of Buckland, past the Old Forest and tapered off at just the perimeter of the Brandy Hills. Contrary to the name, it wasn’t mostly made up of hills; there was broad expanse of plain both in front and behind it. The hills themselves contained ancient ruins of the Brandybucks’ first attempt at settling as just north of the hills was Oldbuck Hall, which was thoroughly hidden by a gathering of Huorns about as old as the Shire itself.

 

And Oldbuck Hall was where Marmadoc had remained since his kin first left to the Weather Hills to enact his plan. He sat upon the old makeshift throne, his back towards the tomb that lay behind him.

Durin’s beard, but he’d never felt so old as he did now. 

Especially as he eyed the armor of his grandfather, Gormadoc, and still had not yet donned it himself. It was in reasonably good condition despite how old it was and he knew it would fit comfortably, but putting on this armor would be an acceptance of his fate. He was, first and foremost, a father then a King. Here he was, in an old Throne Room while his children were out waging a war for their lives. He may have trusted them to carry out his plans, but he still worried for them. He’d had Ravens constantly reporting to him that his kin were safe and they had lost very few on their side--the losses that had been counted still sat in his gut like a heavy stone weighing him down with guilt. They had been someone’s children; those who had died had been born and raised to those who had loved them and their lives had been cut short far too soon.

So lost in his guilt was he that he didn’t even hear the quiet footsteps behind him and was startled out of his chair by the sharp _thwack!_ of a cane connecting with his arm.

“Ouch! What is your damage?” He turned to face his attacker and felt his jaw go slack with shock. “Gerontius?”

The Old Took didn’t look nearly as old as when they had last met during the battle preparations. The Thain that stood before him looked as young as he had when he was a Took Bounder: he stood straight without the use of his cane, skin unblemished by the passage of time and even his hair had reversed its aging with the healthy flush of youth.

“Come now, Marmadoc. Did you really think that only the Brandybucks held the cornerstone of Hobbits with secrets to hide?” At his friend’s continued blank stare, Gerontius rolled his eyes and hit him none-too-gently with his cane once more. “I’m part Fae, you fool!”

“But...but how? You look no older than your mid-forties! Have you been hiding in this form this entire time?! Stop hitting me, you deranged creature!” Marmadoc shouted between dodging the evil cane that kept mercilessly whacking him with every question he had.

“Never you mind that. My kin’s origins are my own business much as yours are your kin’s. Now is there a reason that I’m dressed for battle, but you are not?” Gerontius asked, setting down his cane across his lap and checked if his vambraces were on correctly.

“I was simply mentally preparing myself--”

“You mean you were brooding? Is this a Dwarf thing? The brooding, I mean. It’s practically contagious within your family, you know.”

“...as I was saying, I was preparing myself for when the time came for the main charge. You know that no other has the lung power to blown the Horn of Buckland other than myself and Gunda. And if you haven’t noticed, he’s not present and should be arriving soon.”

It was one of the reasons he was worrying so intensely. His older cousin had seen _many_ battles in his long life and had yet to shed the lust for battle that simmered just under his skin. Ever since the day Gundabald had returned with Dodinas, the older Dwarf’s personality slowly became cold even to his own family. There was _something_ in his eyes that worried Marmadoc; a something that gleamed in the dark when his cousin would stare at nothing during the War Councils. It was definitely something that would have to be addressed as soon as this mess was over and done with.

“I see,” said Gerontius with a bland expression. “Waiting around doing nothing is not doing you any favors what with the enemy pressing in so close. So you’re going to put on your armor and show me where this blasted Horn of Buckland is--don’t look at me like that. I’m in my prime right now; you think think I can’t toot some fancy horn?”

Marmadoc found himself forcefully ejected from his seat with a snap of the Old Took’s fingers and squawked with indignation when a pair of boots settled themselves in front of him. Not that his kin didn’t already wear boots, but a hobbit telling him to wear shoes was unheard of!

“It’s not a fancy horn…” Marmadoc grumbled as the Thain helped him into the chainmail. “It’s an heirloom of my ancestors--mmph!”

He was cut off from his explanation by the sudden growth of his beard that was quite suddenly caught up in his lips. He spat out the hair and glared at the Thain, who was strapping the armor onto him.

“You’re a King, Marmadoc. I’ll not have you go into battle without looking like one!” Gerontius said while viciously pulling one of the straps for the chest piece. “Bundushathûr.”

“I am _not_ a cloudyhead!” Marmadoc said and shooed the younger hobbit away from him. “And I can certainly dress myself!”

“Oh, aye. I can see that,” the Thain said from over his shoulder as he looked for the matching helmet to go with the armor. His voice was dripping with sarcasm. “After all, only someone is most certainly _not_ a cloudyhead would brood in the middle of war while his children defended the Shire. I must be thinking of an entirely _different_ cloudyhead in this Hall.”

Marmadoc could feel one of his eyes twitching and snatched the offered helmet out of the hobbit’s hands and secured it on his head.

“I liked you better when you were old and frail.”

 

**_Brandy Hills_ **

 

Luna knew she was fussing and she knew how much her younger siblings wanted to slap her hands away as she made sure they were suitably protected from the approaching army. She had already forced them into the boots that they rarely ever wore and had double-checked that their quivers were filled to capacity.

“You did get your blades sharpened, right? And don’t forget which Skinchanger you’re supposed to stay with. Amaranth, you still have the knives I gave you?” Luna asked of them and was forcibly removed by the arrival of her father and great-uncle.

“They’ll be fine, nathithuh zê.” Gorbadoc said while patting the Skinchanger’s side. Once they had been sure the burning oil was actually effective, he and Gunda mounted the wolves assigned to them and joined their kin.

His eldest gave him a baleful stare before rolling her eyes and checking her own equipment.

“Save your ire for the goblins, Luna.” Gundabald elbowed her good-naturedly before setting his eyes on the the figures on the hills closest to the plains.

His nieces Beryl and Briar had keen eyes and were searching for when the goblins would emerge from the Old Forest. They were fortunate in their allies as it was Tom Bombadil himself who had sworn to ensnare the goblins within his forest by directing the Huorns to change the path constantly. The goblins could not retreat because of the shifting paths.

There was a sharp blast of sound as Beryl blew her horn to alert them that the goblins had come. No order was needed as the Took and Brandybuck archers gathered on the hill with the Brandybuck twins. Amaranth and Saradas were among them; they had nodded at their father and caught a ride on one of the Skinchangers.

“Well, well! It’s just like the olden days when you filthy halflings had the gall to take on the Goblin King!” A booming voice called out to them on the plains.

A monstrously sized goblin stood with his horde of minions, a gnarled finger pointed in their direction.

“You lot should have all been wiped from existence then! Imagine our delight when our Master bade us to finish what we had started all those years ago!”

“And we’ll kill you again just as we did before, goblin scum!” Briar roared back. She drew an arrow back and the others followed suit.

“We’ll see about that,” the Goblin King sneered. “KILL THEM!”

“FIRE!”

The Bounders may not have been as efficient with a bow as the Elves, but they knew how to use them. A steady stream of arrows fired from their hilltop, striking down the goblins that rushed them, but still their enemy was relentless in their attack. Where one goblin fell, five more took its place, their eyes gleaming with malice.

“Shields!” Gundabald barked. “Move!”

Dwarrow, dwobbits and hobbits came from the sides of the hill, armed with shields and swords. The sturdier Dwarrow wielded both shields and pikes, taking position at the frontline to form a barrier of shields from which the pikes protruded. Kneeling beside them from behind the barrier were the Took Bounders, swords gripped tight and muscles taut with tension.

“Here they come,” said Isengrim.

“Aye,” grunted the dwarf beside him. It was Arvûl from Ered Luin, who had came at the summons from Marmadoc. “You’ll have just enough time to strike once or twice before the barrier reforms between shield raises. Be ready and make them count.”

“Understood,” said Isengrim under the roar of screeching goblins.

The sound of the goblin army crashing against the shields was like a clap of thunder as the dwarrow took the brunt of the force and pushed back, raising their shields for their hobbit soldiers to attack.

“Du-bekâr!”

“For Hildigard!”

The shields came down as the hobbits scrambled back. Two long horn blasts signaled the charge as the Skinchangers bolted forward, teeth and claws eager to spill the black blood of the invading goblins.

“Charge!” Gorbadoc shouted and the barrier of shields lifted once more as the dwarrow proceeded to attack.

 

**_Oldbuck Hall_ **

 

“Master Marmadoc!”

Marmadoc looked up from the roof of the hall and held out his arm for Karnok to land.

“Dáin is close. He comes from the Bree-Fields with our remaining forces!”

The King of the Shire nodded, a modicum of relief filling him.

“Thank you, Karnok. Gather with your kin and report to the Bounder Captains; keep an eye on them.” He ordered his Raven and turned to Gerontius, who was waiting patiently beside him. “Take a deep breath, old friend.”

Gerontius smirked at him, his hands gripping the mouthpiece of the massive horn in front of him. His eyes spoke form him almost as if saying _“I’ll toot your stupid fancy horn for you, don’t you worry.”_

Both the Thain and King pursed their lips and blew into the mouthpieces of the twin horns. It started as a low murmur that stirred the branches of the Huorns surrounding it, parting the Ancient Trees to let the thunderous sound echo across the hills and plains.

Gerontius elbowed Marmadoc away from his horn, gesturing for him to join the battle as their forces needed their King. He took another deep breath, infusing his Fae magic to increase the volume of the Horn tenfold. It was a call to arms for all who were fighting on their side, a prayer to hold strong and survive.

Marmadoc nodded to his friend and quickly made his way down from the top of Hall to join Master Svoren, who had remained by the Hall with the Dwarrow of Bree. Together, they charged with the second wave of Took Bounders to push back against the goblin army.

“To the King!” Gorbadoc shouted over the cacophony of the sounds of war.

 

* * *

 

 

When Dáin and the others met up with the Brandybuck Bounders, the Skinchangers offered to bear them to the battlefield. Their sensitive hearing had picked up the noise of the fight and they were anxious to join their allies.

“So that was your handiwork we saw in Weather Hills then, aye?” Dáin asked Sirius, who was currently carrying him.

Sirius nodded, unable to speak the common tongue in wolf form. He honestly wished that he could have done more damage, but disobey his sister was like asking to be annihilated.

His brother, Wülf, nudged his side with his nose. He growled low in his throat, startling the dwarrow riding him.

_“I have a bad feeling that I can’t shake.”_

_“I know what you mean. Rachna!”_ He called to his sister who was leading the pack towards the Souther Bree-Fields.

His sister said nothing but picked up the pace; she felt the same as her siblings. Something sinister nagged at the edge of her senses and it increased her sense of urgency to reach the battle as quickly as possible.

The distant echo of a horn had one of the Bounders grumbling in Ancient Khuzdul, nearly startling Dwalin, who sat behind him.

“It’s begun,” he explained.

“So was that the Horn of Buckland that your magpie told us? Doesn’t sound like much,” said Dwalin.

“That was just _a_ horn, Master Dwalin. _The_ Horn of Buckland is more like a war cry that can be heard for miles. It’s an heirloom from left behind by my grandfather, Gormadoc ‘Deepdelver’, who had reconstructed Oldbuck Hall. It’s a magnificent piece of work as he was the most talented of us.” The Bounder rambled on.

“Your grandfather, you say? Are you a direct relation to Marmadoc Brandybuck, lad?” Balin asked from across the way.

“Oh aye. We’re first cousins. Sadoc II Brandybuck, at your service.” He said and tilted his Bounders cap.

“If I knew we’d be meeting Royalty, I would have prepared myself better,” Balin said feeling a bit stunned. He felt completely out of his depth with the many secrets of the Brandybucks that were so easily shared.

“None of that now, Master Balin! We’re practically family after all. Your Adad taught my irakdashat practically everything he knew! Master Fundin has been an honorary Brandybuck since my cousin introduced him to the family.” Sadoc said with a smile.

“In that case, just call me Balin. There’s no need for formalities amongst family,” stated Balin.

“Indeed. We’re probably distant cousins any--”

He was cut off by the thundering roar that swept over the land, making his eyes go wide in realization.

“Now _that_ was the Horn of Buckland! Hold tight, cousins! Our Skinchanger friends are about to start moving at full speed!”

The Dwarrow tightened their holds on their allied mounts. Some had to shut their eyes as both the ground and sky seemed to move past them in a blur of color, but not Dáin. The Lord of the Iron Hills kept his eyes trained on the scenery before him, honor demanding he be there to fight alongside the son of the Dam that had been a big part of his early life.

The Skinchangers began to slow down enough for their bipedal allies to dismount before charging into the fray with a fearsome howl. This sent the goblins into a frenzy once they noticed the newly arrived army of Dwarrow. The brief inattention of the goblins was the downfall of many as the scattered army of Marmadoc took full advantage to push forward once more.

Luna let the thrill of battle sing in her veins. She ducked a knife aimed at her head, knowing her Aunt Beryl had a blade ready for the neck of the goblin that dared strike at her niece. Luna cut through a swathe of goblins to reach the side of Isengrim, who was fighting back to back with her Aunt Briar. Hearing the cries of their allied Skinchangers had renewed their wavering strength.

She had gotten along rather well with Dáin in her previous life and had known him to be quite reliable; she was glad to see that the Dáin in this world was still a Dwarf of honor.

“Rorimac!”

Luna turned at the desperate cry from her father and followed his gaze to where her younger brother was getting pinned down trying to defend a wounded Skinchanger. Fear drove her forwards to reach him; he was at least thirty feet ahead of her and she was terrified she wouldn’t reach him in time.

Rorimac panted heavily as he brought his shield up to block a blow meant for the face of the wounded wolf beside him. He would not let any more harm come to his friend as long as there was breath in his body.

Fortunately, aid came in the form of a warhammer that knocked a goblin clear into the sky. A burly Dwarf with inkings atop his partially bald head held out a hand to help him stand from where he had staggered back.

“Come on, laddie. We’ve a war to fight,” Dwalin said.

“Thank you,” Rorimac said with a grunt as he brought up a sword to parry a knife aimed at Dwalin's side.

Luna let out a sigh of relief, eyes searching for her other siblings. She had paired them off with more experienced Bounders, but she knew how easy it was to get separated as time wore on.

 

Suddenly, there was a rumbling beneath their feet that made all that were present halt in shock. The ground split open as a were-worm broke through the earth, screams of horror erupting from their forces as it retreated and cave trolls stumbled out of the hole onto the battleground.

“Gunda!”

Marmadoc’s hand enclosed on a discarded sword and hurled it at the nearest troll. His cousin flanked him as they proceeded to take the trolls head on; they used their short stature and speed to counter the slow movements of the dumb creatures.

“Adad! Get down!” Beryl shouted as two wolves she recognized cut through the battlefield straight towards the trolls.

Gundabald dragged his cousin back right as Wülf and Sirius collided with the first troll while some of their pack took on the remaining ones. They bore down on the giant creatures with relentless fury; the damn were-worm that brought the trolls killed some of their kin when it came out of the ground.

“Luna!” Amaranth’s voice was frantic as she fought to her sister’s side. “Namad! Namad, behind you!”

Her younger sibling’s warning came a second too late as Luna felt herself lifted from the ground in a bone-crushing grip. She turned to see what had gotten hold of her and the blood drained from her face.

“What have I got here? It looks like a hobbitling ripe for eating!” The Goblin King sneered at her despite being covered in wounds.

Luna brought up her sword and desperately swung at its meaty arm, trying make it release its hold on her. It did nothing as the Goblin King shook her hard enough to rattle her her brain before promptly throwing her down, further rattling her senses. She blinked wearily as her sight refocused on the two Dwarrow that were fighting to bring down the monster that had nearly crushed her.

Bifur and Bofur had heard the terrified cries of the little Dam who fought beside them. Bifur heaved his spear at the massive goblin, quickly following after it as fast as his feet could carry him. He retrieved his spear from the monster’s flesh just as Bofur’s mattock struck the monster’s distended belly, drawing its attention towards the two cousins.

“I’ve got you, Mizimith.” Sadoc said as he pulled his grand-niece to her feet. He cupped her face, checking for injuries to determine if she was stable enough to continue fighting.

She brushed his hands away and insisted she was fine. There was still more for them to do.

 

 **_Hobbiton_ ** **_  
_ ** **_Bag End_ **

 

“Bella, I think we really should leave now. Bilbo is as healthy as he’s going to get under these circumstances.” Bungo said, anxiously twisting his hands while his wife loaded the cart with more blankets.

“Oh hush, Bungo. The Brandybucks have things under control. Bilbo, darling, are you comfortable enough?” She asked her son who had been swaddled in blankets in the back of the cart.

They were some of the last hobbits to evacuate the Shire. They would have left sooner if not for the terrible cold that Bilbo had caught and they hadn’t felt comfortable with traveling while he was ill. Belladonna’s sister, Mirabella, had begged them to leave days ago when she had passed through with her younger children.

“I’m fine, Mama. Papa’s right that we should go. It’s scary how quiet it is with mostly everyone gone; I don’t like it.” Bilbo told her, shuddering at the eerie quiet that had unsettled him since most of their neighbors had left.

“You worrywarts!” Belladonna chuckled before getting into the cart with her family. “Very well, then. Let’s go, Bungo.”

“Finally,” huffed her stuffy husband and flicked the reins to the pony attached to their cart.

Their pony led them away from their home down Bagshot Row. Bilbo was right that it was unnerving how quiet it was without the general sounds of Hobbits doing their chores and children playing. Belladonna paid it no mind as she knew that they’d most likely return in no time at all; after all, she had faith in the Brandybucks and their efforts to keep them all safe.

They had just crossed the small bridge into Hobbiton when the ground beneath them started to tremble, startling their pony into bolting. Bungo did his best to calm and control the pony while his wife and child held onto the cart for dear life.

“Whoa! Easy, old girl! Easy now,” Bungo crooned to the frightened pony but it was no use as it continued to gallop blindly in fear.

“B-Bungo,” Belladonna stammered when she looked behind them and saw a giant, twisted form burst from the ground. The wicked form retreated and left a flood of goblins in its place.

“Bella, I’m doing my best to--” He tried to reassure his wife when Bilbo cried out in fright. He turned to see what had scared his son and his eyes went wide in terror. His hands gripped the reins tightly and forgot everything about trying to calm their pony. “Yah!” He cried, urging their steed to run as fast as possible.

There were _goblins_ in the _Shire!_

“Bungo, we can’t outrun them for long!” Belladonna said and reached for the sword that she had packed within the blankets. “The pony can’t be pushed this hard without collapsing.”

“I know that! We don’t have much of a choice--” Bungo yelled over his shoulder and cried out when their pony was suddenly lifted from the ground.

Belladonna screamed, grabbing both Bilbo and her sword as the three of them tumbled out of the cart. She watched as a were-worm came out of the ground and dragged both the pony and the cart back into the earth. She hit the ground hard, wincing as her arm twisted sharply while she held Bilbo to her with the other.

“Mama! Mama, get up!” Bilbo was shaken but relatively unharmed since his mother took the brunt of their fall.

Sinister laughter surrounded them. More goblins crawled out of the hole and headed straight for them. Belladonna shook the hair out of her eyes and shakily got to her feet. Bungo was crouched beside her, clutching his leg as tears of pain streaked down is face. Her heart stuttered in her chest as she turned to her son.

“Bilbo, listen to me. Bilbo!” She unwrapped him from the blankets. “Remember the old forge down the road? I need you to run straight there and don’t look back!”

“B-But Mama! Y-Your arm,” Bilbo clung to her, scared out of his wits.

Belladonna shook her head. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Go to the old forge, please! You need to run and you need to run _now!_ ” She ripped the sword out of its scabbard and swung at goblin that got too close. “Bilbo, RUN!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations:  
> Adad - Father  
> Bundushathûr - Cloudyhead  
> Nathithuh zê - my first daughter  
> Du-bekâr! - To arms!  
> Irakdashat - nephew  
> Namad - sister  
> Mizimith - jewel that is young


	12. Hey Brother

“I don’t understand!” Luna cried out as her arms shook from exhaustion. “Their King is dead but they keep coming!”

She was pressed back into a cluster with her family. They were pinned down by the onslaught of ravenous goblins. Her younger siblings were in the middle as they were too exhausted to keep fighting; they were hoping this fight would have ended sooner so they could evacuate their wounded, but there seemed to be no end in sight.

“War,” her father grunted, “makes little sense in fights like these.” He hissed as a knife grazed his armor and threw a punch at his attacker’s face.

“Are we _really_ discussing matters of war right now?” Gerontius snapped at them. He lifted his foot and kicked at a goblin that tried to bite him.

“No time like the present!” Bofur said cheerfully while stabbing a goblin in the eye with his mattock.

There were cries of outrage as their left flank faltered before pushing back to regain some ground. They had to do something to get out of this predicament; no one knew how much longer they were all going to last.

“MARMADOC! GET BACK HERE, YOU FOOL!” Gundabald screamed at his cousin who suddenly charged forward, taking the attention of the surrounding goblins away from his kin.

“Get the wounded out of here!” He shouted over his shoulder and swung the warhammer in his hands.

The Skinchangers who were charged to remain with him hesitated to obey his orders, but they had sworn to protect his kin.

“Get my grandchildren away from here, Rachna!” He ordered the grey wolf that had been close to him since the battle had begun. “Go!”

She snarled and turned her back to him, walking over their allies to reach Rorimac, Saradas and Amaranth. The nearest Dwarrow helped lift the Dwobbits onto her back, clearing a path to allow her to escape with them.

Unfortunately, the moment Marmadoc took his eyes off the enemy to ensure his grandchildren would be saved, he was blindsided by a shield that bashed the side of his head, dislodging his helmet.

“ADAD!” Briar, Beryl, and Gorbadoc cried out as they watched their father fall to his knees.

Marmadoc felt the air rush out of him as he was tackled to the ground by a swarm of goblins, their crude blades trying to cut through his armor and at his exposed face.

Watching their Patriarch go down stirred something within the Brandybucks.

“Get off of him!” Dáin yelled, fighting his way to reach Marmadoc.

“They’re going to get themselves killed! To arms! To arms!” Luna shouted. “Du-bekâr! Du-bekâr!”

Their remaining forces rallied the cry and moved forward. They would not lose two kings here!

“Baruk Khazâd!” Gundabald shouted, his old friend Bifur at his side as the two broke through the wall of goblins blocking their view of their kings.

“Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!” Gorbadoc yelled in response, the Battle-Lust upon him in full force. “To the King! Come, Sons of Durin! We will not be defeated here!”

The Battle-Lust had spread among them and they forced their way through with a final assault. Ravens dove from the sky, no longer content hanging back and watching their Masters get slaughtered despite their orders.  Wülf and Sirius ripped the goblins off the two kings, their ferocious snarls scattered the goblins back in fear.

“Ah, my boys. Good lads,” Marmadoc said deliriously from blood loss and stumbled back against Sirius’ side. He turned to face Dáin, who was holding him upright. “Dáin...Irak’Adad, you came.”

“Aye, of course I came, foolish boy.” Dáin was immensely unsettled by the state of his fellow king.

There was a horrible gash along the side of Marmadoc’s head, and his eyes had glazed over from the pain. His breath wheezed between clenched teeth and his hand weakly settled on Dáin’s shoulder.

“My son will make a great king. Look how he leads them, Irak’Adad.” Marmadoc smiled as his vision blurred. “Teach him...as you...taught me.”

“None of that now, Marmadoc!” Dáin said and none-too-gently slapped the younger Dwarf to keep him conscious.

Familiar horns rang in the distance and Dáin looked to the East. Row upon row of Dwarven shields appeared, his cousin leading them.

“Thorin,” Dáin breathed, utterly shocked that Erebor had sent an army after all. He felt Marmadoc sag down against him and he panicked. “No, no, no Marmadoc! Stay with me, Undayûy!”

He no longer heard the sounds of goblins being slaughtered nor the war cry from his cousin, who was charging the plain to reach them. He only saw and heard the cries of a young Dam, her hands cupping the face of Marmadoc.

“Ugmil ’adad, please, no!” Luna pleaded with her beloved grandfather. “We’re alright. Erebor has come to help us; we’ve survived.”

“Dáin, this is my azaghîth, my eldest grandchild. Taught by Fundin, you know.” He mumbled and slipped into unconsciousness.

“Ugmil ’adad!” Luna cried. “We need a Healer!” She turned to Dáin, her Durin blue eyes pleading with him to help them.

“Aye, lassie. I know just the Healer that could save him,” He stood and patted her shoulder. "Wait here,” he told her and turned to Sirius who was whining at the state of his good friend. “Lad, take me to my kin from Erebor. It looks like they’ve forced the goblins into a retreat.”

Sirius barked and knelt down, allowing Dáin to climb onto his back. It took them little time to locate Thorin, Glóin, and Óin.

“Cousin!” He greeted them before hauling Óin up onto the Skinchanger. “I need to borrow Óin for a bit.”

The disgruntled Healer cried out in protest as Sirius carried them over to the fatally wounded Marmadoc, who was now surrounded by his family. Their eyes were filled with tears, but their expressions were grim and it took Dáin a moment to register that a Raven was speaking.

“...worms breached the Shire. They appeared in Hobbiton, Tookborough, and as far as Michel Delving. We found signs of stragglers who had not yet evacuated. They need aid, my lord.” The Raven said.

Óin was already inspecting the damage done to Marmadoc, verbally listing the herbs and supplies he would need to save him. Briar sat beside him, digging into a pouch on her belt to pull out what she had on her.

Beryl had forced back her sobs and approached Thorin II, who had arrived to their small gathering.

“My Lord,” she sniffled, “Thank you for coming to our aid. If your army is willing, we’ve received news of goblins in the Shire. We need help clearing them out and searching for survivors. If...if you could help us, please?”

Thorin couldn’t bear to see a woman cry; he just wasn’t capable of dealing with it! He nodded and bowed to her respectfully.

“Thorin II, son of Thráin, son of Thrór. At your service, Lady…?”

“Beryl Brandybuck, daughter of Marmadoc Brandybuck. I know my way around the Shire, so I can guide you there.” She bowed in return and looked up at the sky. “Korak!” She shouted, and a large Raven flew down to her side.

“Aye, Mistress?”

“Please call your kin and pair up with the Dwarrow here. We’re going to do a sweep of the Shire and look for survivors.”

“As my Mistress commands,” Korak said with a small bow of his own and did as she ordered.

 

* * *

 

 Bifur and Bofur held down a snarling Gundabald, his eyes lost to a Ùhùrudazl, a battle memory that many longtime soldiers were known to get caught up in.

 **“Gundabad, control yourself! It’s me! Bifur!”** Bifur pinned his old friend’s arms to his sides, trying to talk him down in khuzdul: **“We’re safe! The battle is over!”**

“A little help here, lads!” Bofur shouted while holding the older Dwarf’s legs down.

Gorbadoc sighed heavily, body weary with exhaustion and heart heavy with grief. He heard Bofur’s call for help and forced himself to his feet. The last time his Uncle had gotten this way, his father had solved the problem. Now _he_ would have to be the one to do it.

“Luna! Nathith, your uncle needs us,” he gripped her arm to pull her away from his fallen father.

She wiped at her face with the back of her sleeve and stood with him, her breathing evening out to match his. “I’m ready, Adad.”

“Let him go,” Gorbadoc bit out.

“Are you mad? He’ll kill you!” Bofur cried out in concern for them.

“No, he won’t. It’s not the first time we’ve had to do this,” Luna stated, hand reaching down for her sword the same time her father reached for his. “Please, let him go.”

“Alright, lassie. We’ll be right here just in case, right Bifur?” Bofur nodded to his cousin, who reluctantly released the furious Dwarf.

Gundabald was on his feet in a heartbeat, wild eyes searching for an enemy that only he could see. He reached for the axe at his belt, but his nephew and grand-niece remained still. He growled something unintelligible and ran at them, axe raised over his head with both hands.

In a long-practiced move, Gorbadoc and Luna parried the axe with their swords, Gorbadoc turning his blade just-so in a move that lifted the axe out of Gundabald’s hands right as his daughter’s fist sucker-punched their uncle right in the solar plexus. The armor absorbed some of the force, but the familiarity of the blow had Gundabald blinking rapidly before looking down at the Dwobbit holding onto him with growing confusion.

“You’re not Marmadoc.” He stated simply, arms dropping to his sides.

“Thank Durin for that,” Luna said against his armor, weeping a little bit.

Her great-uncle patted her on the back in thanks for punching him free of the memory. He looked around them until his eyes landed on a familiar Dwarf.

“Bifur! Bâheluh! It’s been too long!” He grinned and walked over to his friend, who was eyeing him with a hesitant smile. “What? Oh, _that?_ I’m fine now, really!”

Bifur rolled his shoulders in a _“if you say so”_ manner and embraced his old friend. He introduced him to Bofur, who was nearly tripping over his own feet to greet such a legendary warrior.

“B-Bofur, at yer service, Master Gundabad!” He stammered and flinched as his older cousin smacked the back of his head for acting like a goof.

“Thorin!” Dáin called to his son, who had been doing a count of their soldiers that had survived and managed to assemble some litters to carry their injured. He was a very pragmatic Dwarf, something Dain was rather proud of. “Come here, my boy. Come meet Master Gundabad!”

Thorin III sputtered and dropped the litter he was carrying, “N-Now?” He hastily straightened his disheveled attire and patted down his beard. “M-Master G-Gundabad! I-It’s an honor to meet you! I’m T-Thorin III, son of Dáin!”

Gundabald turned round and stared at the Dwarf that trembled like a startled deer before him. Gundabald bit back a grin; watching grown Dwarrow act like children just by meeting him never got old.

“Well met, Young Master Thorin. I thank you for coming to the aid of my kin; we could not have lasted as long without your help,” he said genuinely, placing a hand on the younger Dwarf’s shoulder.

“You’re most welcome, Master Gundabad! It’s...I mean...we have many injured here. Is there a place we can bring them to get them looked at?” Thorin III got over his fan-boying and focused his attention to the task at hand.

“Oh laddie, you’re in for a treat then,” Gundabald said and gestured for his nephew to join them. “Gorbadoc! We’ll be bringing the injured to Oldbuck Hall as it has the most space to bear them. If you would be so kind to show them the way?”

Gorbadoc rolled his eyes.

“You just want to show it off to them, you old goat. Fine!” he exclaimed with exasperation. “Luna! Briar! We’re taking them to Oldbuck Hall! Do let the Huorns know not to attack them, please.”

Dáin gave him a questioning glance as the two Dams smirked back at them, chuckling as they caught a ride on Wülf, who ran beside them.

“Luna is my daughter, Lord Dáin. Briar--” he rolled his eyes at the whoops of joy and relief that could be heard over the hills”--is my younger sister. They’re a mischievous lot when they are together,” he bent down to grab a litter, “but they’re even worse when the rest of my daughters join them.”

“The...The rest of your daughters?” Dáin gasped in shock, “By Durin, lad! How many children have you sired?”

Bofur, with the aid of the skinchangers, gathered their injured towards the few litters they could make. The rest would have to be carried atop the wolves’ backs.

“Eight, Lord Dáin. I have…” he paused, “ _had_ eight children. There’s seven of them now,” he said.

“Ah, my condolences, laddie.” Dáin let the subject drop and continued working with the Dwobbit to carry their injured to safety.

 

“Master Gorbadoc!” Thorin III jogged towards him. “Um, about these _Huorns_ that you told the Dams not to attack us...are they...beasts of some kind?”

Gorba snorted at the question.

“Nay, lad. They’re trees. Ancient Trees from long ago. We’ll be perfectly safe, don’t you worry.”

“Did he say _trees?_ ” Bofur asked with a doubtful tone.

Bifur shrugged and looked to Gundabald for confirmation, who in turn, just grinned a little sadistically.

Dwalin grunted with a roll of his eyes and nudged the younger Thorin forward. “Hurry up, we have injured that need seeing to.”

“Oldbuck was your ancestor, aye?” Balin asked excitedly of Gorbadoc, who was amused by the Dwarf that looked like a cuddly old grandfather.

“Indeed. Gorhendad Oldbuck was a Melekûnkhûzd of the Vales of Anduin. I’m surprised Orgulas hadn’t shared that with you; he spoke so fondly of you,” he said with a small smile.

“Hmph! Your brother said, and I quote, ‘You Dwarrow have your secrets and us Brandybucks have our own!’. He was quite adamant that I figure it out myself and that the secrets lay in the Ancient Library of Erebor.”

“I don’t mean to tease, but he was right." Gorbadoc laughed heartily and held his hands out in a sign of peace at Balin’s flustered visage. "Gorhendad helped mine Erebor back before it became a Kingdom; he and his son, Gormadoc Deepdelver, lay the foundations of your great kingdom. We’re actually--” he stopped to rest a moment, his eyes on the path to the Hall that became visible after the Huorns had moved, “--about to see another fine piece of their talent. Try not to drop the injured when you see it; we’re very proud of it, you know.”

“It must be rather impressive with how you boast about...it…” Balin trailed off, eyes moving up and up at the front of the Hall that stood nearly as tall as the canopies of the trees that protected it. “By Durin!” He gasped.

Dáin’s jaw dropped as they approached the open doors, his fingers lingering on the carved booted feet of their ancestor. He could see the similarity in the carving of the massive statue to the ones in Erebor.

 

“Adad! Adad!” A small chorus of young voices called from inside, small booted feet approaching to greet them.

Rorimac, Saradas and Amaranth pushed at each other as they ran for their father, their young arms reaching for him in a hug.

“Yes, yes. I am fine. These,” he gestured to the semi-wounded army behind him, “are our guests. I expect you to treat them with respect. This is Lord Dáin, King of the Iron Hills. He’s a close friend of your Ugmil ’adad.”

Rorimac straightened his tunic, and gave a short bow.

“Right. Rorimac Brandybuck, at your service my Lord!”

“Saradas Brandybuck, at your service!”

“Amaranth Brandybuck, at your service, my Lord Dáin!” The young Dam curtsied as best she could in trousers and armor. “Please, come this way. Namadaz’adad Briar has tidied the Throne Room to receive them. My namad is clearing the Tomb if...if it’s still not enough space. I hope that’s alright with you?” She looked up at the Dwarven Lord with hope.

“Aye, mizimith. It should suffice,” he nodded to her. “Thorin! Inùdoy, come bring the wounded!”

“Aye, Adad!” Thorin Stonehelm grunted, lifting the litter with Dwalin to bring it inside. “Thank you very much, Miss--” Thorin III dropped the litter, completely unhearing the cry of protest from both the injured and Dwalin.

He dropped to his knees, fingers suddenly numb as his eyes stared up a the Dam in front of him. “By Durin, but you’re beautiful!”

Amaranth smiled shyly, a tendril of a honey colored curl falling forward as she ducked her head. “You really think so?”

“Oh, for the love of Durin!” Gorbadoc exclaimed, taking up the end of the litter that Thorin the younger had dropped and helping Dwalin carry it inside. “Everyone else not currently enraptured by their One, please come inside!”

Dáin practically skipped inside after congratulating his son. Balin followed after him, nodding at the young couple that were currently blocking the middle of the entryway. Bofur thumped the young lord on the back quite enthusiastically, whistling a jolly tune as he followed after the others.

“I’m..I’m Thorin III, son of Dáin. May I have the pleasure of learning the name of my Umùrad’akaruh?” He still couldn’t feel his legs, or his hands. He felt as though the ground had been pulled out from under his feet.

“I’m...um...Amaranth. Amaranth Brandybuck, my Lord.” She tried to curtsy, but was halted by his hand grasping hers.

“Don’t call me that. I am no Lord in the presence of my Kurdel,” he brought her hand to his lips and grinned when she flushed prettily.

 

Luna sighed dreamily from the doorway.

_At last._

A bit of happiness from the harshness of the day they’d had. Her great-uncle Gundabald rested his chin on her shoulder as they both watched the infatuated couple flirt with one another.

“You know,” he whispered in her ear, “we’re going to have to give him the Shovel Talk. Preferably before your Adad can because that’s infinitely more fun.”

“You’d probably be more frightening than Adad. I heard the young lord is quite a big fan of yours,” Luna said with a grin.

“Oh aye,” said Bofur, who popped on over to rest his chin on Gundabald’s shoulder, “the lad nearly wet himself just saying ‘hello’. ‘Twas quite a sight.”

 **“Enough blackmail material for years, that one.”** Grumbled Bifur from Luna’s other shoulder.

The four of them giggled like children as they gossiped about the new couple. Several feet behind them, Gorbadoc pinched the bridge above his nose and groaned.

“Wonderful. Another mischievous lot that’ll be the cause of my headaches to come,” he said to no one in particular.

“Chin up, laddie!” Balin said with a cheery smile. “You can join the line of Durin now!”

Gorbadoc grimaced and walked away, muttering something about needing a table to pound his head against. Balin blinked and looked at his brother, who had finished laying their wounded down. “He didn’t look too happy about that.”

Briar, who had rolled up her sleeves to assist Óin, shuffled past them with her arms loaded with trays of supplies. “We’re already _from_ the line of Durin, you silly Dwarrow!”

“ _What?!_ ” Balin squawked.

“Marmadoc’s mother was Hanna Goldworthy of the Iron Hills, cousin!” Dáin said with a hearty laugh.

“But...But Orgulas never said!” Balin flailed his arms at his amused younger brother. “He..He never--Master Gundabad!” The son of the Royal Adviser practically wailed as he ran to the old warrior. “I met a lad named Sadoc II Brandybuck on the road here! He called his grandfather ‘Deepdelver’! That’s...That’s a Dwarven title!”

“Balin, please, calm yourself. You’re embarrassing us,” Dwalin hefted his brother up and away from the Dwarf of legend with a curt nod.

“Oh, aye. Of course it’s a Dwarven Title, Young Master Balin. His wife, Malva Headstrong, had vouched for him when the Guild of Architects granted it to him.” Gundabald called after the Royal Adviser in training who had been sent into hysterics.

“Is _nothing_ sacred?!” Balin cried up into the rafters above him.

“Hush now, nadad.” Dwalin comforted his brother, sitting him down in a chair beside a busy Óin. “These Brandybucks aren’t as interested in keeping their secrets once they’ve warmed up to us, it seems.”

“Malva Headstrong crafted Thrór’s crown! His _crown,_ Dwalin!” Balin could hardly believe it! So much of the Brandybuck’s history was deeply entwined with their own! “I need parchment! And ink! Blast it all, someone find me a Raven! Karnok!”

The Ravens chortled up in the rafters, more than amused at the flustered Dwarf down below. Karnok flew down as his name was called. “Yes, Master Balin?”

“Please, when there is time, will you take a letter to Erebor for me? To my father, Lord Fundin?”

“As you wish, Master Balin.”

 

 

**_Hobbiton_ **

“Hello? Is there anyone out there?” Beryl shouted into the empty town. “It’s safe now!” She called out and switched languages, into Old Hobbitish, “ _:It’s Beryl Brandybuck! I’ve come with aid!:”_

“What language is she speaking?” Glóin asked Thorin as they rode behind the Dam on ponies. They watched her dismount from her wolf friend and the two searched the surrounding homes.

“I think...I think it’s the language of the Hobbits.” Thorin guessed aloud, dismounting from his pony and helped in the search.

“But I thought the Hobbits only spoke in the Common Tongue!” Glóin exclaimed, brows furrowed in confusion.

“We also thought the Hobbits didn’t know khuzdul, but some of them clearly do.” Thorin said, lifting some rubble that blocked a door.

Sirius, in his wolf form, let out a bark, and led them down a worn path towards a stone building.

“The Old Forge,” Beryl gasped and ran for it.

“Hello? Is someone there?!” There were signs of a battle and the door that was usually sealed shut was cracked open as if hastily shut.

“M-Mistress Beryl?”

“Bilbo? Bilbo Baggins, is that you?!” She pulled frantically at the door. “Sirius! Help me!”

She paid no attention to the sounds of the Skinchanger reverting back to his human form, his larger hands soon joining hers to pull open the door. It creaked open ever so slowly, opening just enough for the hobbit’s lithe form to slip through and into her open arms.

“Bilbo! Hush now, Bilbo, hush. Where is your Ma and Da? Are they in there?” She asked him and knew it was the wrong thing to say when he started to sob uncontrollably. “Oh, no.”

She moved the Hobbit into the awaiting arms of Sirius and headed back down the path. “Belladonna! Bungo! Where are you?!”

Sirius did his best to soothe the hobbit in his arms. He didn’t have the heart to tell Beryl that he already knew the fate of Bilbo’s parents; he had caught their scent of decay as soon as they had entered Hobbiton.

“Mistress Beryl!” Glóin called from further down the street. His voice was hoarse and his eyes wet with tears. Oh, but the old banker had seen many battles during his time. However this was the first time he had seen the aftermath of such senseless slaughter. Hobbits were so tiny in comparison to Dwarrow looking like mere children, they were just so small.

“Yes, Master Glóin?” She ran to his side and had to grab onto his arm as her stomach dropped into her boots. “No! No, no! _Belladonna!”_ She cried out in anguish.

Belladonna Baggins, the best friend of her eldest niece lay in a broken heap, run through the abdomen with a spear. Her sword lay beside her...the sword Beryl herself had crafted for the lass’s Coming of Age. Not beautiful little Belladonna with a heart of gold and eyes always dancing with adventure!

She knelt beside the cold Hobbit and closed her eyes.

“Sleep now, Gehyith. Rest in the fields of Yavanna.”

“Beryl,” Sirius murmured behind her. “There’s more up ahead. I can take Bilbo back with me to Oldbuck Hall. I’ll send back Rachna to help you, if you prefer it.” His sister was strong enough to take in the sight of the death that reeked across the Shire; Sirius just didn’t have the heart to detach himself from it.

“Go,” she whispered, leaning heavily on Glóin for support.

 

* * *

 

  _ **O**_ ** _ldbuck Hall  
_****_One Day Later_**

 

Luna mourned the loss of her friends in the only way she knew how:

By getting the crap kicked out of her by a superior warrior.

“Enough, Luna!” Gundabald barked at her, kicking aside her sword and kneeling to hold her.

“Ma tûmbaz,” she whispered, rolling away from his hands. Her stupid, brave, childhood friend had stayed and fought goblins with a broken arm just so her child could flee to safety. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, but she wiped them away and forced herself to her feet.

“Again,” she said.

“No more,” said Gunda. “Unhealthy grieving habits aside, I will not beat down an unarmed Dam just because she asks it of me!”

Luna said nothing as he walked away from her, her eyes clenched tightly and she bit back the scream that fought to pour out of her. Losing Belladonna and Bungo the first time around in her previous life had been hard enough; what stung the most was how they still died being attacked by the enemy. Durin, but it hurt just as sharply as it did then!

Why? Why did she and Bilbo have to suffer through this once again?

 _Oh, Bilbo,_ she thought mournfully.

He was nearly as withdrawn as Dodinas before her little brother had passed on. The only thing keeping him together was the encouraging and charismatic words of Balin, who had taken it upon himself to comfort the orphaned hobbit.

“Namad?” Amaranth approached her slowly, knowing her older sister would strike her if she touched her right now. “Ugmil ’adad is awake. He’s asking for you,” she said.

Luna truly did scream then, a harsh wail of pain that garbled off into some very creative khuzdul that her father would have shoved a bar of soap into her mouth for. She coughed, her throat raw from her cry, and looked up at her sister.

“ _Don’t_ tell Adad anything I just said. Say it to your future husband when he comes home stupid and drunk, but _Don’t. Tell. Adad._ ” Luna threatened and took the hand her sister offered to pull her up to her feet. She wiped at her eyes with the the back of her hand. “Let’s go.”

Marmadoc lay on a slab of obsidian, his hands clenched by his son and daughters who had just finished saying their farewells. At Luna’s approach, they kissed his brow and moved away, leaving just her and an ever-watchful Dáin at his side.

“Luna,” he breathed, “my sweet Lukhudel. Come sit beside an Old Dwarf,” he patted the space beside him.

She did as he asked, her hand reaching for his to hold it against her lips. “I’m here, Ugmil ’adad. I’m here.”

“Never forget that you are never alone. Durin in all his forms watch over you,” he gestured towards Dáin, who nodded in agreement. “Now I have one final request of you; please, my dear girl. Sing the song that I taught you, so that I may go in peace.”

Luna forced back a sob. “You know I’m not the best of singers,” she wept.

“That’s what makes it so great!” He exclaimed and let out a wet cough, turning his head aside to spit out the blood from his mouth. “But all the same, please sing for me. Irak’Adad Dáin can help you,” he said.

Luna licked her lips and took a deep breath even as her heart splintered into pieces.

 

 _“The world was young, the mountains green,_  
_No stain yet on the Moon was seen,_  
_No words were laid on stream or stone_  
_When Durin woke and walked alone._

She heard Dáin’s sharp intake of breath as she sang the first verses of the Song of Durin, her tone watery with her tears.

 

 _He named the nameless hills and dells;_  
_He drank from yet untasted wells;_  
_He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,_  
_And saw a crown of stars appear,_  
_As gems upon a silver thread,_  
_Above the shadows of his head._

 

Her voice broke and she took a moment to collect herself before continuing:

 

 _The world was fair, the mountains tall,_  
_In Elder Days before the fall_  
_Of mighty kings in Nargothrond_  
_And Gondolin, who now beyond_  
_The Western Seas have passed away:_ _  
The world was fair in Durin's Day._

 

She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle her sobs, and it was Dáin who pressed on for her, slowly saying each word until she could try again.

 

 _A king he was on carven throne_  
_In many-pillared halls of stone_  
_With golden roof and silver floor,_  
_And runes of power upon the door._  
_The light of sun and star and moon_  
_In shining lamps of crystal hewn_  
_Undimmed by cloud or shade of night_ _  
There shone for ever fair and bright._

 

Her breath hitched when she felt the warmth in her grandfather’s hand leave him.

 

 _There hammer on the anvil smote,_  
_There chisel clove, and graver wrote;_  
_There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;_  
_The delver mined, the mason built._  
_There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,_  
_And metal wrought like fishes' mail,_  
_Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,_ _  
And shining spears were laid in hoard._

 

She pressed her lips to his brow, laying a simple kiss there before stepping away from him. Her voice grew stronger as she made sure to finish his last request.

 

 _Unwearied then were Durin's folk;_  
_Beneath the mountains music woke:_  
_The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,_ _  
And at the gates the trumpets rang._

 

She glanced back at the only grandfather she had ever personally known, her Durin blue eyes taking in every detail of what she would always remember about him.

 

 _The world is grey, the mountains old,_  
_The forge's fire is ashen-cold;_  
_No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:_  
_The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;_  
_The shadow lies upon his tomb_ _  
In Moria, in Khazad-dûm._

 

Luna closed her eyes, the memories she shared with him permanently ingrained in her mind. The first wooden practice sword that he taught her how to hold; drinking with him and Fundin in the tavern in New Belegost and the bead he had poured all his skill into for her Coming of Age.

 

 _But still the sunken stars appear_  
_In dark and windless Mirrormere;_  
_There lies his crown in water deep,_  
_Till Durin wakes again from sleep.”_

 

Dáin took a shuddering breath; he had struggled to contain his sobs while the wee lass sang their sacred song. Looking around the dimly lit Hall, there was not one dry eye all around him. His son, Thorin III, sat in a corner with his One, holding her as she wept against his shoulder. His cousins Balin, Dwalin, Glóin, Óin and Thorin were being lead by Gorbadoc to Dáin’s side.

“The...The Ancestral Tomb is this way. If...If you could help me Return...Return my Adad to Stone--” Gorbadoc’s shoulders shook with the force of his sobs.

“Aye, laddie. Whatever it is you need, we’re here for you.” Dáin said around the lump in his throat.

They each took a corner and edge of the slab of obsidian with Gundabald leading the way through a door that had gone unnoticed until now. An elderly hobbit and his grandson held the door open, their heads bowed in respect for their fallen King.

They carried the slab down the dark steps of the Ancestral Tomb, the only sound was their footsteps softly pitter-pattering on the smooth stone. The daughters of the King, Beryl and Briar, were at the far edges of the room with candles as they looked for grooves that lined the walls with oil. Once the oil was lit the full brilliance of the Tomb was lit and the breath was damn near stolen from their guests’ lungs.

Mahal, their creator, stood as tall as the ceiling, his hands outstretched as if to welcome them home. About a dozen stone coffins lay in the pattern of the Brandybuck Family Tree, their ancestor at the very back with the only unfilled one just a scant few feet in front of them.

Gundabald gestured them to set the slab down and to lift the King into the obsidian coffin. They bowed their heads as Gundabald gave his last words to his younger cousin.

“Rest now, Son of Durin. Gaubdûkhimâ gagin yâkùlib Mahal.”

The eight Dwarrow, all Sons of Durin, said nothing more as they sealed Marmadoc ‘Masterbelt’ Brandybuck into his final resting place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of Durin can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uxfoa23skHg)
> 
> Khuzdul Translations:  
> Adad - Father  
> Azaghîth – Little warrior  
> Bâheluh - friend of all friends  
> Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu! - Axes of the Dwarves! The Dwarves are upon you!  
> Du-bekâr! - To Arms!  
> Gaubdûkhimâ gagin yâkùlib Mahal - May we meet again with the grace of Mahal  
> Gehyith - Dove that is young/Little Dove  
> Inùdoy - Son  
> Irak’Adad - Uncle  
> Kurdel - heart of all hearts  
> Lukhudel - Light of all lights  
> Ma tûmba - Don’t touch me  
> Melekûnkhûzd - Dwobbit  
> Mizimith - jewel that is young  
> Nadad - Brother  
> Namad - Sister  
> Namadaz’adad - Aunt  
> Nathith - Daughter/Girl who is young  
> Ugmil ’adad - Grandfather  
> Ùhùrudazl - Battle Memory  
> Umùrad’akaruh - my soulmate (my one)  
> Undayûy- (the) greatest of boys


	13. No One Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small interlude between Dwobbits and Dwarrow

**_Buckland_ ** **_  
_ ** **_Brandy Hall--One Week Later_ **

After numerous burials both Hobbit and Dwarven, Thorin and Dáin sent the bulk of their armies home. No doubt the Iron Hills and Erebor would be gossiping for months after all they had learned about the Brandybuck Clan. There were more than a few who even kept trinkets after their stay in the Shire, whispered exclamations of “Master Gundabad _touched_ this!”

Only a relatively small group opted to stay; it consisted of Dáin, Thorin II, Thorin III, Óin, Glóin, Dwalin, Balin, Bofur, Bifur, and a few dozen of the Royal Guard of Erebor. They were welcomed to stay in the guest rooms of Brandy Hall while things settled down in within the Shire. It was there that Balin caught his King up on his discoveries using a Family Tapestry that was loaned to them.

“Thorin, do you know what this means?!” Balin was in full historian mode, nearly bursting with enthusiasm.

Thorin Oakenshield was more than a little stunned at the things he had just learned. Master Deepdelver was a legend within the Guild of Architects; many a Master Architect praised his work to this day! And after seeing the pinnacle of his work at Oldbuck Hall, that praise was certainly earned.

“...and his wife was _Malva Headstrong_ , Thorin! She personally crafted King Thrór’s _crown!_ ” Balin shoved a letter into his cousin’s face, “And my Adad _knew!_ He even wrote what section of the library it could be found in! Mahal have mercy, but how could I have missed it?!”

Dwalin, who was infinitely amused by his brother’s meltdown snatched the letter out of Balin’s hands and skimmed it before throwing his head back and laughing uproariously.

“But you didn’t miss it, nadad! It says here you personally marked the book as ‘To Be Restored’!”

Balin flushed bright red before crossing his arms over his chest and plopping himself down onto a bench to sulk.

As the laughter from his cousins and friends died down, the doors to Brandy Hall opened and Luna stepped inside.

“Baknd ghelekh!” She said after glancing behind her shoulder.

“Baknd ghelekh, lassie!” Dáin greeted her, his brows furrowed when she turned and shushed whoever was outside the door. “Is there anything we can do for you today?”

“Well, you see...the thing is--Oi! Stop shoving each other back there! Sorry, one moment,” she said after turning her back once again to step back outside. “Behave for one moment, will you?” They heard her say before she stuck her head back through the open doorway. “My Adad had some business to attend to and left me in charge of dealing with my siblings. It’s just that--Hey!”

Before she could finish what she was saying, she was bowled over by a gaggle of Dwobbits, the youngest ones eager to meet their guests after only watching them from afar.

“Dwarrow!” The youngest ones--Asphodel, Dinodas and Primula--cheered exuberantly and went straight to Óin and Glóin to greet them in broken khuzdul.

“ _Namaaaaaad,_ ” Rorimac whined dramatically, “Adad was supposed to take me to the Main Forge! He said we would after things settled!”

He was unceremoniously hip-checked away from his older sister by his younger brother, Saradas, who grabbed Luna by the hem of her apron. “Me first! I finished the khuzdul workbook you made for me! I want to study from a _real_ book, namad!”

Rorimac growled and lifted his brother away from Luna, setting him down nearby the sulking Balin before marching back to his sister.

“I asked first! I know metalsmithing isn’t your forte, but could you at least explain what tools are used for what? I’ll learn on my own if I have to--ack!”

Saradas had gotten a running start and tackled his older brother to floor.

“And...do...what?” Saradas panted, pinning his brother’s right arm behind his back. “Ma kasakhbibmî lebal!”

“Saradas!” Amaranth yelled in outrage, giving up on voicing what she needed help doing and wrapped her arms around his head in a brutal headlock. “Stop it, both of you!”

Rorimac hissed in pain and used his free arm to pinch at Saradas’ ear. The younger Dwobbit let go with a yelp, stumbling back against his younger sister, releasing her hold on his head.

Thoroughly incensed now, Saradas moved to punch his brother in the face, but found himself hanging in the air, the back of his shirt caught in a firm grip.

Rorimac laughed at his little brother’s predicament before he also found himself half lifted in the air and he snuck in a flailing kick to Saradas’ shin.

“Me asnân tada Mahal duhû kansu tah.” He sneered then screeched when Saradas’ fist grazed the side of his face.

“Amadmêzu yudai barathgalthasas 'ezhul nimgumul khagsmêzu kana kunbunul nikh zajalataha yamêzu!” Saradas yelled, causing many a pair of eyebrows to raise at his choice of insult.

“You take that back!”

“Make me! Kakhuf inbarathrag!”

 

When Dwalin had lifted the squabbling boys to separate them, this was not the direction he intended them to go. He looked over to Thorin and Dáin where they were laughing helplessly against the long table beside them.

“By the Maker,” wheezed Thorin, “but they’re even worse than Fíli and Kíli when they were Dwarflings!” He wiped away a tear and struggled to stand.

Dáin snorted and walked over to Dwalin, and took Saradas from his grip. “I’ve got this one, cousin. Now laddie,” he set the boy down and tilted the Dwobbit’s chin up to meet his gaze. “What’s this about then? What happened to the brave warrior I met on the battlefield?”

Saradas’ lower lip trembled and his fists were clenched at his sides.

“Irak’Adad Orgulas was in charge of my lessons before he--Anyway,” the younger lad coughed, “Namad loaned me her old workbook that Lord Fundin gave her and I finished it already.”

At the sound of his father’s name, Balin perked up a bit.

“Which volume? One or two?” He asked Saradas, patting the space on the bench beside him. “Come sit with me, my boy. Lord Fundin is my Adad and he taught both Orgulas and I when we were young.”

This was news to Saradas and he quickly joined Balin on the bench. “Five. I finished volume five, sir.”

“Five is quite advanced for a lad your age! Actually...how old are you, if I might ask?”

Saradas basked in the praised and flapped his hand with a nonchalant “Thirty-two, sir.”

Jaws hit the floor at that remark.

Dáin gestured wildly from Saradas to his oldest sister. “You let a Dwarfling onto the battlefield?!”

Luna, who had promptly sat down after her siblings started their little brawl, was rubbing at her temples in agitation.

“Ugmil ’adad said _you_ were thirty-two during Azanulbizar, so I don’t see why it matters. He’s of age in hobbit years anyway and we were short on those trained in combat.”

Dwalin finally set down Rorimac and pointed to him. “How old is this one then?”

 _"This one_ can speak for himself, thank you very much!” Rorimac groused and pushed away Dwalin’s finger from his face. “I’m thirty-eight.”

Thorin, Dáin’s son, was stunned speechless when Amaranth whispered in his ear her own age and fell onto his rear. “My One is _thirty-six?!_ You’re underage!”

Luna _really_ should have seen this one coming. The Dwarrow of Erebor and the Iron Hills were in an absolute uproar at the culture shock clashing within the Hall. Then again, it’s not like she had _wanted_ her younger siblings to join the battle at all. They honestly just didn’t have a choice at the time!

She looked over to her youngest siblings who were playing peek-a-boo with Glóin’s majestic beard. Oh, to be that innocent again and capable of completely ignoring the madness going on around them at present.

“Please lower your voices,” she told the upset group of Dwarrow. “I’m sure we can discuss the bizarre aging of Melekûnkhûzd at another time.” She walked over to Dinodas, who was wearing Óin’s ear trumpet like a hat, making the older Dwarf smile. “This is Dinodas. He’s twenty-four and very much an adolescent between both our races. The same goes for Asphodel,” she pointed to the dark-haired dwobbit peeking from beneath Glóin’s beard, “as she’s only twenty-seven.”

“And I’m twenty! My name is Primula!” The youngest Brandybuck announced rather proudly, her hands playing with Óin’s braided beard pig-tails.

“She’s the baby,” Saradas whispered conspiratorially to Balin.

Primula gasped and pointed an indignant, pudgy finger at Saradas. “I’m not a baby! _You’re_ the baby! Fanâd duzdnu targ usganul mi mê!”

Bofur roared with laughter and picked up the wee dwobbit, hugging her to his chest. “Oh, they’re precious! Can we take them home with us? Please? The lads in the Mining Guild would love to have them!”

“And what of yourself, Miss Luna?” Thorin asked of the young Dam he had met during Marmadoc’s funeral. “Are we to play babysitter to another Dwarfling?” he teased.

Rorimac, who had become utterly fascinated with Dwalin’s knuckledusters, snorted. “Hah! Namad is an old maid by Hobbit standards. She’s sixty-eight.”

“Yes, you’re so _very_ funny, Rorimac.” Luna deadpanned. “We can’t all have a line of Hobbit lasses stalking us during Market Day.”

Her younger brother went as red as a tomato, his mouth opening and closing rapidly like a fish.

Amaranth joined her sister’s side after giving up on convincing her One that she was _eventually_ going to come of age. “Oh, nadad. They’re just curious about the lining of your trousers.”

“More like the lining of his pockets,” mumbled Luna before sharing a look with her sister and erupting into a fit of giggles.

 

* * *

 

It was Bifur who took matters into his own hands and paired up the Dwobbits with a Dwarf instructor until the Elder Brandybucks returned home.

Rorimac was to go with Thorin (Stonehelm), Saradas with Balin, Amaranth with Óin, Primula with Glóin and Dáin, Dinodas and Asphodel with Bofur and Bifur, and finally Luna with Thorin (Oakenshield) and Dwalin.

 

Stonehelm knew the basics of metalsmithing as he was required to, being the son of a King. Teaching someone younger than him would surely help him wrap his head around the idea of his One being twenty-five years younger than him. It would also give him an opportunity to learn more about her as her brother freely gave information as the young Dwobbit led him into a practically destroyed forge towards the back of Brandy Hall.

“...the best out of us when it came to knowing which herb is good for mending wounds or helping to cure an illness,” Rorimac rambled on about his younger sister.

He noticed Thorin stop and look around him before smacking himself on the forehead.

“Ignore this. This was my Ugmil ’adad’s Forge of Anger. Anything he didn’t care about finishing got left behind for one of us to break whenever we were riled.” He pointed to the morningstar still lodged in the ceiling, “That’s Luna’s doing right there. We still can’t get it down.”

He led his new teacher further in towards a broken desk. He spat into his hands and rubbed them together, grunting when he gripped the off-colored stone wall behind it and pulled. “The Main Forge--some help please!--is this way.”

It took the two of them several minutes to fully open the hidden door to reveal the forge of a Mastersmith.

“Adad says we can only go in here under supervision, so I think you’ll do just fine!”

 

“This way, Mister Balin!” Saradas skipped through the Family Library, small hand enveloped in a much larger one.

Balin eyed the story books that lined the many shelves as he was urgently pulled along to a bookcase that had been pulled open to reveal a set of stairs that led downwards.

“Careful, laddie! Can you see where you’re going?” Balin asked in concern. Sure, _he_ could see where he was going, but he did not yet know what Dwarven traits had been passed along to the young Dwobbit.

“‘Course I can, sir! Prob’ly not as well as Luna or Rorimac can, but the Den is right up ahead. Golly, oil sure does burn forever!”

The two of them squinted at the sudden shift of lighting and Balin let go of the boy’s hand in awe at the murals painted on the walls. They depicted the beginnings of Erebor all the way to the settlement of Buckland. There were more bookshelves that stood at about knee-high with much older books.

“Volume six should be right about...here!” Saradas retrieved the book and handed it to Balin. “I haven’t even got to look through it yet, but namad said it’s _really difficult._ ” He said worriedly.

Balin could easily sympathize with the boy; he remembered frequently using the book as a makeshift pillow when he was a Dwarfling.

“That’s why I’m here to help you, remember? Now these are some of the more ancient runes…”

 

“And this is the patch of Kingsfoil that we keep in the garden!” Amaranth proudly presented to the Royal Healer of Erebor. “We keep it handy for whenever the Rangers pass through to give their reports to Adad.”

“Very kind of you, young lassie.” Óin said.

He was impressed with her knowledge thus far as well as her attention to detail in terms of correct dosage according to both age, race, and lethalness. Oh, but this was a lass to look out for in the future!

“It’s also the War Rams favorite snack when they’ve been very well-behaved,” she said with a smile.

“...War Rams?” Óin knew he was going deaf, but there was no mistaking what she had just said.

“Yup! They’re gifts from our cousins in New Belegost and have a higher endurance than the Goats from the Iron Hills. I do my best to take care of them and I especially love helping them when they go into labor. It’s a bit messy, but it’s really rewarding in the end!”

She took him by the hand and pulled him along. His old heart was nearly exploding with how adorable she was. She certainly took pride in her work and didn’t shy away from things that would make any other Dwarfling uncomfortable; most Dwarflings took little interest in the health and well-beings of others at such a young age.

He would definitely make sure to send her some of his Healing Manuals from Erebor when he got the chance!

 

“All the other hobbit girls do is embroider things with plain string. It’s so utterly _dull,_ ” Primula said with disdain.

She was digging through a basket she had brought from Rorimac’s room out to the front porch of the Grand Smial. Glóin and Dáin were content to sit on the comfortable rocking chairs--they had thoroughly inspected the safety of the strange creations beforehand--and smoke from their pipes while the wee one practiced a hobbit tradition with Dwarven flair. Most of her works had touches of strong lines rather than softer curves.

“But Rori is _really_ clever when he’s bored. He made this for me for my last birthday and Adad keeps trying to convince him to set up a stall for Market Day, but nadad ‘doesn’t really have the head for numbers to do it right.’ Or so he says,” she said with a roll of her eyes and presented the dazzling spool of thread to Glóin.

Who immediately started choking on the smoke he had just inhaled.

He’d seen golden colored string used in the fabrics of his people while growing up and living in the Lonely Mountain, but none of it shined like this! He held the spool much like he would have handled a newborn babe. He held it carefully, inspecting every inch of it, turning it this way and that; he even bit down on the end and simply stared at it.

“Dáin,” he said with wide eyes, “I think our thread weavers have been outdone by an adolescent Dwobbit.”

His cousin gave him an incredulous look before he caught sight of what was held in the Banker’s hands, his pipe falling clear out of his mouth.

“Is that...is that _spun gold?!”_

“Isn’t it pretty, Mister Dáin? Rori is real good when it comes to gold. Our cousins in New Belegost even named a mine shaft after ‘im. ‘Course that was after he found it for ‘em!” Primula giggled and took the end of the string and threaded it through the eye of a steel needle like a pro.

“Primula, can your brother _sense_ gold specifically?” Glóin asked as he knelt beside the Dwobbitling.

“Yep! Namad called him a Niffler when he was real small ‘cause he’d always find the gold shiny things when he first learned to walk. Adad says he used to hafta drag him out of his forge almost _everyday_ ,” she said before winking at him. “It got a lot worse when Amaranth learned to walk too!”

Dáin left his comfortable chair to join them on porch, “Amaranth? She’s the second oldest, right?” She was also the underage One of his son as he recalled.

“Mm-hmmm,” Primula hummed in confirmation and absently reached into the basket, feeling around for another spool of thread. Once her fingers found the correct texture, she pulled it free to show to the older Dwarrow. “Rori helped her make this for Amad last Yule,” she tossed it to them and went back to her embroidering.

The Lord of the Iron Hills caught it easily and stared blankly at what he was holding.

 “Ukratel,” He mumbled with great reverence before turning to his cousin, voice hoarse with the sudden dryness of his mouth. “Glóin? I’m pretty damn sure our thread weavers have been outdone by _two_ adolescent Dwobbitlings.”

Glóin, son of Gróin, took one look at the impossible treasure held by his cousin and fainted.

 

 

“What do ya mean you’ve lost them!” Bofur demanded of his older cousin, his hat twisted in his anxious hands.

 _“I mean we were feeding the pigs and I picked up a flower to give to the wee ones, but they were gone when I looked back up!”_ Bifur signed in rapid Iglishmek. He looked just as distraught as Bofur.

They had _one_ job: watch the wee ones while they did their chores until it was time for lunch and they had somehow managed to fail at something so simple!

Bofur had just come back from feeding the chickens to find his cousin turning over logs and lifting pigs in a panic.

“ _Chaaaaaaaaaarge!”_ came two high-pitched cries and the two Ur’s had to hug a pen post to avoid being trampled by a large pig.

They blinked when they noticed that said pig was being ridden by their two missing charges straight into a mud pit.

“Well we found them,” said a relieved Bofur. He winced when the impact of the pig and Dwobbitlings met the mud pit.

 

“Hah! You’ve lost your sword now, lassie! Do ye yield?” Dwalin laughed at the young Dam who he thought he had just defeated.

She eyed her discarded sword with a bored expression then looked back at him. She bent low, fingers slipping into the sides of her boots and pulled out two knives the length of her forearms.

“Did you know,” she said with a wicked grin, “that I used to spar with your Adad?”

Throin guffawed from the sidelines when Luna doubled her speed with footwork he almost recognized until the edges of her small blades were at Dwalin’s throat.

“Oh, if Dís could see you now!” He held his sides while his cousin turned a rather fine shade of red and purple before admitting defeat.

Luna withdrew her blades and whispered something in Dwalin’s ear, causing the older Dwarf to grin rather maniacally. It was an expression that spread to Luna as she retrieved her sword from the ground and the two of them looked at the King of Erebor, who had laughed himself straight off the bench.

“So how about it, old man?” Luna said loudly. “Fundin said you were a dab hand at swordplay. Care to prove it?”

Like some kind of demented gopher, Thorin popped up from where he had fallen with a suspicious stare. He got to his feet and regally stared them down.

“The two of you? Against _me?_ ” He walked over to them, his hand grabbing his sword that was leaning against one of the posts of the Training Pen. “Why, the odds sound terribly unfair,” he said, unsheathing the blade. “For you.”

* * *

 

Lunch was an oddly quiet affair.

 

Not one word was said about Rorimac missing an eyebrow nor the smell of burnt hair emanating from Thorin III.

 

Balin absently opened his mouth for the young Saradas to spoon-feed him the stew they were eating, his hands currently busy writing another letter to his Adad back in Erebor.

 

Óin had claimed the head of the table and used the weathered book he brought with him as a placemat while quietly going over the names of plants in khuzdul while Amaranth sat beside him with her journal and pen in hand.

 

Primula kept poking Dáin, who was petting her hair much like one would pet a dog, his eyes dreamy as he mentally calculated the price of what such thread could be sold for. Glóin was in a similar state, although he was occupied with redoing his beard braids with a shiny thread entwined with silver and gold.

 

Bifur, Bofur, Dinodas, and Asphodel were absolutely caked with mud. Their feet resting on a completely passed out sow that had wandered into the dining room with them.

 

Dwalin and Luna had the largest, most shit-eating grins plastered upon their faces as they stared across at a bruised and aching Thorin Oakenshield. The King of Erebor moved majestically slow, but they knew it was because of the amount of pain he was in.

 

_Oh, they knew._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdul Translations:**  
>  Baknd ghelekh - good morning  
> Adad - Father  
> Namad - Sister  
> Ma kasakhbibmî lebal! - You couldn’t forge a spoon!  
> Me asnân tada Mahal duhû kansu tah. - You are proof that Mahal has a sense of humor.  
> Amadmêzu yudai barathgalthasas 'ezhul nimgumul khagsmêzu kana kunbunul nikh zajalataha yamêzu - Your mother put salted pork around your neck so the local mutt would play with you.  
> Kakhuf inbarathrag- Goat turd  
> Irak’Adad - Uncle  
> Ugmil ’adad - Grandfather  
> Melekûnkhûzd - Dwobbits  
> Fanâd duzdnu targ usganul mi mê. - Elves have a longer beard than you  
> Ukratel - Glory of all glories


	14. Tattoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiny time skips here and more Dwobbit/Dwarrow interactions.

 

Gorbadoc dismounted from his daughter’s war ram with a bone weary sigh. The ram bleated at him with a knowing stare and he hunched his shoulders.

“We don’t have a choice, Abe.”

The Shire Council had not gone well at all. The only victory the Brandybucks were given was the life of one Payton Potts; his fate was left to that of Gorba’s sisters, Beryl and Briar. He honestly didn’t want to know what they decided nor where the body was going to be hidden. The new Mayor of Michel Delving still thanked them for all their efforts in defending the Shire before taking them aside and dropping the bomb on them that although they had saved many, there was a vast amount of discontent among the majority of gentlehobbits.

They had been given an ultimatum to cast out their more lethal family members, or they’d all be exiled despite the grave consequences that would come with it for the Shire. Gorbadoc had loudly protested the ultimatum, but the only thing that made it worse was his wife’s agreement that it would be for the best.

 

_“Mirabella, are you listening to yourself?!” Gorbadoc took her by the shoulders and resisted the urge to shake some common sense into her._

_“I am. This war has taken too much from me, Gorba. I’ve lost a brother, a son, and my eldest sister. I’ll not lose anymore.”_

_Isengrim glared at his younger sister, fists clenched at his sides._

_“We_ both _lost siblings if you’ve forgotten and my immediate reaction would not have been to cast out my eldest daughter!”_

_“But she’s not_ my _daughter!” Mirabella shouted, her hands clamping over her mouth the second she realized what she had said._

_“Mira...you...you really don’t consider Luna to be one of your own?” Gorba was shaken._

_When they had married, Mirabella included being the best mother figure she could for Luna in their vows. Luna had been the perfect doting daughter that any hobbit could have asked for!_

_“It’s just...she’s…” MIra stammered under the disappointed stares of her family. Even her father, who had returned to his old and frail form, was shaking his head at her. “If she hadn’t been born so abnormal, then nothing abnormal would have happened to us! To the Shire!”_

_“Mirabella Took,” Gerontius snapped, voice cracking like a whip, “have you forgotten your own lineage?”_

_Shadows sprung up around the room as though a fire was lit before the Old Took. His body shimmered for a moment, a tall, hazy outline of the Fae he could have been hovering like a mirage before their eyes._

_“But those were just myths! Stories we tell children!” She looked wildly from her father to her brother. “They weren’t supposed to be real!”_

_“Even the most ridiculous tales hold a grain of truth, sister. You know that,” Isengrim said, “Or at least the sister I remember would have known that.”_

_Gerontius thumped his cane against the ground to bring about their attention._

_“Say Luna does get cast out, but what of your other children? Rorimac, Amaranth and Saradas are of age now. You know they’ll choose to follow Luna as they’ve always done. Will you hold them back while knowing how much more ‘abnormal’ they are than the other hobbits? What will you do if Dinodas, Asphodel and Primula start showing more Dwarven traits than Hobbit?”_

_“They’re my babies! They belong here in the Shire with their family! You can’t…you don’t understand, father!” Mirabella snapped in exasperation._

_“Of course I understand!” Thundered the Old Took, the shadows creeping higher and his mortal form melted away to reveal his full Fae form, dark eyes glittering with an inner fire. “I lost my children as well! I lose them in all the ways a parent can! I watch them grow up and follow the life they’ve chosen! The least that_ you _could do as a parent is give them the choice!”_

 

Gorbadoc pressed his hands to his face and wiped away the sudden tears that sprang from his eyes. He just couldn’t believe that the lass he married and had children with would harbor such thoughts, but he knew grief could twist a person into something they always had the potential to become.

There was no choice.

“Adad? Are you alright?” Luna asked her father, closing the door to the Grand Smial behind her.

She had heard Abe’s disgruntled cries and gone outside to find her father weeping against the belligerent ram. She walked to his side, her hands reaching for the ones covering his face when she found herself wrapped up in his arms, his face pressed against her shoulder.

“I’m _so_ sorry, nathith.”

“For what? Adad, I don’t understand--”

He told her everything. Told her how she and Gundabald were going to be in exile until things calmed down in the Shire. Told her how her stepmother couldn’t bear to look upon her right now without seeing a Dwarven killer rather than a Brandybuck warrior who would defend their home.

“Gunda is in Brandy Hall explaining the current situation to our guests. I suggest you go there while I talk to your siblings,” he said hoarsely, patting her on the back and walking into his home.

Luna barely noticed when her faithful ram knelt beside her, leaning against her so she could get onto his back. She had lost so much already: her brother, her cousin, her grandfather and best friend.

Now she was to lose her home?

She didn’t even realize she was crying when she walked into Brandy Hall or that she had even arrived. Gunda was talking in low tones to the gathered Dwarrow that consisted of Dáin, Thorin II, Balin and Dwalin. The others had already gone to bed after a restless day of keeping the dwobbitlings occupied. Gunda’s attention turned to her at her arrival.

“Luna?” He stood and pulled her into his arms as she walked by, not even paying attention to where she was going. “Come here, my girl. It’ll be alright, Nâthuê kurdu.”

“We’ve been cast out…” Luna said softly while her great-uncle herded her over to their little corner. “I’ve done everything that was asked of me, so why...w-why?” Her lower lip trembled and a wave of fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “Why was I born so _wrong?”_

Dáin could no longer take watching the young Dam break apart in front of their eyes and took her small hands in his.

“Listen to me, lassie. You are a daughter of _Durin_ . There has _never_ been anything wrong about you. I’ve seen you fight and you even trounced my cousin in a spar--”

“She had help!”

“--so I know you’re one of the strongest Dams I’ve ever met. Do not let this crush your spirit, Luna Brandybuck. You’re worth more than the entire Shire could ever hope to understand.” He said evenly, watching her take in his words with a small nod. “You’re family to us, and we would never turn you away. Balin?”

Balin reached into his coat pocket and took out a letter that had been delivered earlier in the day by a Raven from Ered Luin.

“You’re more than welcome to come to Erebor with us, Miss Luna. The Scriveners Guild in New Belegost have confirmed that you’ve already earned your Mastery with them. You’re more than qualified to work in the Royal Library alongside my apprentices or you can help train the Royal Guard with my brother.” Balin said.

He was thoroughly impressed her skillset. He knew that she and Gunda would make a valuable asset to the Kingdom of Erebor. He elbowed Thorin, whose facial expression was grim.

“He’s right, you know.” Thorin stated while nodding towards Balin. “You’re more than welcome to reside in my kingdom for as long as you wish. You’re Durin’s Folk, no matter how distant.”

Dwalin grunted his agreement and gently thumped her on the back. “Ye can stay in the family apartments with my Adad. Your uncle was a brother to us, so that makes you our niece.”

The front doors of the Hall flew open and the six of them turned to see Rorimac, Saradas, and Amaranth charging towards them, throwing themselves with arms reaching for their sister.

“We’re going with you!” Amaranth cried.

“I can’t believe Amad would even--you’re our sister and our teacher! Where you go, we go!” Saradas sobbed against her back.

At the surprised expressions on the Dwarrow’s face, Rorimac could only shrug. He could cry another time. Preferably after he annihilated a training dummy.

“We’re of age in the eyes of the Shire. It’s our choice whether or not we stay. Adad can finish the lessons for Asphodel, Primula, and Dinodas until they’re old enough to decide.” He said and fished out a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing at the tear tracks on his older sister’s face.

“What’s all the commotion out here? Can’t a Dwarf get a decent night’s rest?” Bofur walked in with a loud yawn. “What’s all this then?”

Before they could even properly explain, the miner found himself with an armful of crying dwobbits and he had to sit down. They told him what had happened in bits of pieces between hiccups and sobs, making him hug them tighter to his chest.

“Hush now, Melekûnkhûzd. Uncle Bofur has got you,” he soothed them by ripping out one of his coat pockets to use as a handkerchief for the distraught dwobbitlings.

Glóin and Óin soon joined them, Bifur trailing behind with blankets and pillows. They had overheard the discussion and decided to bring some rest to the emotionally upset group gathered in the Hall. Thorin III brought up the rear with mugs of ale and tea; he wanted to do something to comfort his new family members.

“Don’t worry,” Balin reassured them, “we can discuss plans of what we’ll do in the morning. How about we get some rest?”

Luna held up a finger to request for a moment as her other hand had occupied a mug of ale that she was currently chugging down. Setting down the mug, she made grabby hands for another; Thorin III hesitantly did as she wished.

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Rorimac sighed after arranging the blankets into some kind of nest. “Ugmil ’adad said she would drink like this almost nightly when she trained in Ered Luin.”

“So _you’re_ the one Adad wrote about in his letters!” Dwalin exclaimed while wondering where the Dam put it all. “He had said that there was a promising student that could drink him under the table!”

Luna tilted her head back to stare up at Dwalin. “To be fair, we only ended up under the table because we would always fall out of our chairs arguing about something.” She reached up and undid the pins holding back the fall of her hair.

Most Dwarrow only groomed their hair in the presence of close friends or family members, so she knew she wouldn’t be offending anyone. She took the comb offered by Amaranth before separating the bottom layer of braids away from the loose strands of her hair.

Most of their guests were fixated on the length of platinum blonde of her hair that was a similar shade to those of the Elves. Balin and Thorin II were more focused on the braids she had kept separate as her beads of Mastery were visible on those ones.

“You’re a Spy Master?” Thorin asked her, noting how the dull iron bead was nearly identical to the one his own Spy Master, Nori, owned and wore.

“Hmm, I could be. Miss Ravit said I certainly had the potential to be one,” Luna replied. She combed through the longer strands of her hair before plaiting them into a long, loose braid. “Your turn, namadith.”

Amaranth pouted and sat in front of her older sister, arms crossed and rolling her eyes. “How do you make it look so easy? I can’t even get _one_ braid into my hair without the curls flying in every direction!”

“Probably because you’ve kept it short to fit in with the other hobbits,” Luna commented. She started chuckling when her words registered in their guests’ minds and left them flabbergasted. “You can grow it out longer if you want to. If it was longer, some of the curls might not come out so tight,” she said, addressing both her sister and brothers.

Rorimac and Saradas rolled their eyes at her words.

“My hair is more likely to come out matted if I try to grow it,” Saradas said, speaking from experience. “I’ve never been able to maintain it once it got past my ears.”

“Ah, my boy, but we Dwarrows have a solution for that!” Glóin exclaimed, hand digging into his pockets to pull out a small vial. “We wouldna’ be able to maintain our generously large beards without it! This hair oil could tame the worst tangle or snarl into silk!”

“You don’t have anything like this here in the Shire?” Thorin Stonehelm asked his One. He was sitting across from her, eyes trained on her face. If he had been staring at her loose and unbound hair, it would have been the equivalent of staring at her chest.

Amaranth shook her head, wincing at the warning tug on her hair given by her sister. “No. Most hobbits just have a pair of scissors when the curls get too much for them. Namad is a special case since she’s less hobbit than the rest of us.”

At the group’s blank stare, Rorimac explained that they had different mothers and that Luna’s mother wasn’t fully Dwarven either.

“Our Amad shouldn’t have said those things though. The parentage of the child shouldn’t be the child’s fault,” Rorimac continued, taking his turn in front of Luna as she combed out the tangles in his hair. “Excluding the Sackvilles, of course.”

Saradas fell over laughing at that one. He used the hem of Bifur’s shirt to wipe his eyes before rapidly whispering in the older Dwarf’s ears just what a Sackville was. This caused the older dwarf to laugh with the young dwobbit.

Luna’s lips quirked upwards into a smile, chuckling at the wise words of her younger brother. “They are a rather rotten sort who love nothing more than to bad mouth their neighbors for attention. Actually, you don’t even have to be a neighbor for them to bad mouth you.”

“Camellia can go suck on a rock for all the nasty things she’s said about you,” Amaranth said.

“The rock doesn’t deserve that,” Saradas mumbled with a stifled yawn.

 

Dáin and Thorin II sat away from the others, gazes softened on the young dwobbitlings chatting away their worries to their kin.

“They could easily earn their keep in Erebor. Óin has expressed his wishes in offering Amaranth an apprenticeship under him in the Healing Arts. It’ll take time for Rorimac to gain an apprenticeship under a Mastersmith, but he can join the Mining Guild if what you say about his gold sense is true.”

“Oh, aye,” agreed Dáin. “It would be good for the lad to have a solid foundation before testing his skills in a forge. And it would be good to have fresh eyes in the Mountain. It’s been an Age since their clan has been to Erebor; I’m sure they’ll succeed in whatever they end up pursuing.”

“The eldest will surely cause an uproar when they arrive,” Thorin said with a chuckle. “Two Masteries and high praise from Fundin himself! She’ll have suitors crawling out of every nook, cranny, and crevice once word gets around.”

“Durin’s beard!” the Lord of the Iron Hills groaned, “I completely forgot about suitors! Amaranth will be spared their pursuit as she’s my boy’s One, but Luna will need to be educated on the etiquette of courting rituals!”

 

* * *

 

“You’ve got your oilskin cloaks? Blankets?” Gorbadoc asked his exasperated children.

They were leaving for Erebor today and he knew he was holding up the traveling party, but he couldn’t help but worry. It would be their first time traveling so far from home even though they had their reliable older sister to help support them.

“We got everything we need, Adad.” Rorimac reassured their father. “Don’t worry. We’ll write you when we stop by Rivendell.”

“If...if you’re sure about leaving…” Mirabella hesitantly approached them, hands reaching for them for one last hug.

The venomous glare aimed in her direction by her own children stopped her in her tracks.

“We’re sure,” Saradas stated, slinging his pack over his shoulder. “Look out for our letters, Amad.”

_Assuming we’ll have anything to say to you,_ went unsaid despite the tilt of Amaranth’s head and the frown on her face conveyed the message quite clearly.

“Alright then,” Gorbadoc dragged his children into a group hug, kissing them each before pressing their heads together. “Please listen to your elders. Learn all you can and don’t forget to write home whenever you can.”

“We’ll be fine,” Luna said with a sad smile. “Be sure look out for Bilbo until he’s ready to make the journey with us. He still needs to complete his survivor’s training and the basics of swordplay.”

Gorbadoc nodded and ruffled the hair of the hobbit in question. Bilbo stared at the ground, hands gripping the hem of his shirt.

Luna took one of those hands and brought it to her cheek. “Don’t worry, Mizimith. Once your training is completed, I’ll personally come back and bring you with me to Erebor.”

“I’ll do my best, Auntie Luna.” Bilbo promised.

After the funeral of his parents, the Thain had given the choice of who would continue to raise Bilbo to his grandson to decide. Bilbo had readily chose the Brandybuck Clan as they were the closest to his immediate family and knew how much he could learn from them. He had ran when the goblins took his parents from him, but he didn’t want to run away anymore.

“Are we goin’ or what?” Dawlin shouted from the front of the line of ponies. “We’d like to reach Bree by nightfall!”

“Pipe down, old man!” Luna shouted back and gave Bilbo a quick hug. “Well, we’re off. I love you both.”

She grabbed one of Abe’s horns and hefted herself up onto the saddle. Rorimac and Saradas were on their own ponies towards the center of the line. She took her sister’s hand and hauled her on up in front of her and kicked at her ram’s sides.

Her ram caught up with Dwalin and his pony easily. She thumped him on the shoulder good-naturedly.

“You know it’ll take us at least a day or two to reach Bree. We’ve got a lot of elderly with us here,” she gestured to the others with a grin.

“We are not that old, little lassie.” He growled at her despite the smile on his face. “It’s not Balin’s fault his hair is going grey so early.”

“Oh, it’s not too surprising seeing how you’ve gone bald before he’s gone fully grey,” Luna bantered back.

“You two are hopeless,” Amaranth said, twisting in her seat to talk to the nearest dwarf, who happened to be Glóin. “Tell me about Erebor. Is it as grand as the stories say?”

“Well if ye take yer Oldbuck Hall and multiply it by a couple thousand, then aye. I’d say it’s quite grand once you’ve seen it for yerself,” Glóin said with a proud smile.

“So the entire city is within the mountain? That sounds really complicated structure-wise,” Amaranth said. She was struggling to mentally picture how it all worked out.

“It can be, at first.” Her One, Thorin III said from her right. “I needed a map and a guide the first time I visited. Some of the Guilds take up an entire floor so it takes some time to know exactly where you’re going.”

“Do you ever just shove people down an abandoned mine shaft when they get too annoying?” Asked a mischievous Rorimac causing Bifur to snort in amusement.

“Rori!” Amaranth scolded.

“No, wait. The lad’s words hold some merit,” Bofur said. He stroked his mustache thoughtfully, thinking back to some of the more annoying miners in the mountain.

“Bofur,” said an exasperated Thorin Oakenshield, “ _please_ do not start shoving your fellow miners down abandoned mine shafts when we get home.”

When Thorin turned back around to continue his conversation with his cousin, he missed Rorimac’s wicked grin along with the dwobbit’s hands signing in Iglishmêk to the cousins of the Ur Clan.

_“It won’t matter if you shove them down semi-abandoned mines. They’ll still be found with no proof of how they fell.”_

The Royal Guards who brought up the rear of the traveling party saw Rori’s comment and sniggered under their breaths. Their quiet laughter had Rorimac shifting in his saddle to stare at them with an inquisitive brow raised.

Some of them raised their hands and signed back, _“We saw nothing.”_

  


They settled to camp at the edges of the Old Forest so their ponies could rest. Saradas took it upon himself to unsaddle the ponies and wipe them down from the day’s travel. He liked ponies; they were more of an even temperament than the devilish rams that his older sister favored. Her ram specifically was a mean old goat that only seemed to obey Luna and would usually try to eat the hair of anyone else who dared to mount him. He had just finished brushing down his own pony when something poked him in the back, startling him something awful. He turned and locked gazes with the devil himself.

“Aberforth, really! Why can’t you wait your turn like the others? You don’t even need to be brushed down! Hey!” The cantankerous, overgrown sheep went straight for his pockets, looking for treats.”Stop that!” He was practically whining when Aberforth knocked him down, strong teeth nibbling at the ends of his hair. “Namad! Your devil beast is doing it again!”

“Someone _really_ should help the boy,” Dwalin said from beside the fire. He was inspecting his weapons for any damage to them.

“Oh, aye. Certainly,” Luna agreed. She didn’t even look up from where she was sharpening her daggers.

“He’ll learn eventually.” Gunda said. His words causing those around the fire to chuckle at the misfortunate dwobbit.

“I’m not food, you spawn of Morgoth!” Saradas ran by them, Abe hot on his heels. The pair of them ran around the other Dwarrow, who merely looked on in amusement.

Amaranth excused herself from Óin’s brief lesson about the medicinal value of the herbs they saw on the road and rolled up her sleeves. Spitting into her hands, she rubbed them together before snagging the arm of her distressed brother and pushing him towards the ground. With practiced ease, she planted her boots onto the ground and grabbed Abe by his horns forcing him to skid to a stop. Before he could rear back, she pulled his horns forward and headbutt him between his eyes.

“Um…” Thorin Stonehelm was reluctant to step into the odd situation. “Amaranth?”

His One pushed back her bangs and slapped Abe on his rump, sending the now pacified ram back towards the ponies. “Yes?”

“Nevermind. Care to gather more firewood with me?” He held out a hand, smiling when she took it.

Bofur elbowed Bifur, pointing at the young couple. “Look at them. They’re about as cute as Bombur and Vania when they first met.”

_“It’s almost disgusting how cute they are,”_ Bifur signed in reply.

“Almost sickening, really.” Luna added. She nodded to her brother Rorimac who had stood off to the side, chatting away with some of the Royal Guards. He thanked the Guard for the advice about Erebor and went to follow after the young couple as a chaperone.

 

“Go to sleep, Amaranth.” Saradas groaned.

He had been listening to her toss and turn in her bedroll for the past hour and it was keeping him awake. The snoring of the others he could easily sleep through, but it was the small rustling noises that was driving him mad. He should have volunteered for first watch with Luna and Bofur if he knew he’d be up for this long.

“Everywhere I lie,” Amaranth growled and pulled her blanket up to her chin, “there’s a dirty great root sticking into my back.”

“I’d say you’re all set for married life then,” said Luna nonchalantly.

“What?” Saradas asked and sat up to stare at his sister.

“What?” Luna echoed back, carefully keeping her expression blank.

“ _Namad!_ ” Amaranth hissed when Bofur stuffed his face into his hat to smother his laughter.

  


They stopped briefly in Bree where Luna and her siblings got to say their goodbyes to their Aunts, who had returned with the other Bree-Land Dwarrow. They had remained tight-lipped about the whereabouts of one Payton Potts, but their eyes told of vengeance achieved.

Briar and Beryl Brandybuck sent off their kin with some extra feed for the ponies as well as some blank journals and travel pens for them to use on their journey. They also loaned their horns to their nieces and nephews, instructing them to use it in case of emergencies.

“Our Skinchanger friends have lingered along the East Road, keeping it safe for travelers. They know the sound of these horns and will come to your aid if you need it.”

They pulled aside young Thorin Stonehelm with saccharine smiles that sent chills down his spine. With every quiet word, he paled until he was quite literally shaking in his boots and even stumbled when he returned to their traveling party, eyes wide with fear.

“Shovel Talk,” Gundabald and Luna said simultaneously at the questioning look from Dáin. They were unable to hold back their smirks and the Lord of the Iron Hills had to roll his eyes at their childishness.

_“:Which story did you think they told him?:”_ Luna asked her great-uncle in Old Hobbitish, drawing curious glances from their companions.

_“:Hard to say.  Could be the one when they were younger and hunted goblins for sport in the Misty Mountains.:”_ Gundabald’s grin was especially sinister.

_“:Ooh, that one is particularly nasty! They could have also told him the tale of their hunts with the Eagles of Manwë. They did spend a decade or so tearing apart the orcs from Mount Gundabad.:”_ Luna giggled with a vicious gleam in her eyes.

“Rorimac, my lad, what are they saying?” Balin asked of the dwobbit who rode to his left.

Rorimac, who seemed to take on a rather displeasing shade of green, shuddered and bit back the bile that threatened to rise from his belly.

“Trust me when I say as someone who deeply, _deeply_ regrets eavesdropping on old war stories of their elders: _You. Don’t. Want. To. Know_.”

“If you say so, laddie. Is there any way that I can learn the language? Unless it’s a secret, then I understand completely if you’re unable to teach me.” Balin was eager to learn more about their distant kin.

“Sure. I can teach you some of the basics, like conversational phrases. You’d have to ask Luna or great-uncle Gunda for more advanced lessons. They taught us,” he gestured to Amaranth and Saradas, “both Old Hobbitish and Khuzdul.”

“I’d say that you and your siblings all have a fairly solid grasp on the language of our kin,” Thorin II added to the conversation as the rotation for their line of ponies shifted. “Your choice in insults amongst one another are rather impressive for ones so young.”

Saradas snorted at that. “Don’t look at Namad or Gunda. Ugmil ’adad taught us the really bad ones that even our Amad doesn’t know the translations to.”

Dáin ducked his head and busied himself with readying his pipe. He would take it to his grave that _he_ had been the one to teach Marmadoc the foul insults that been passed on to his grandchildren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdul Translations:**  
>  Adad - father  
> Nathith - daughter/girl that is young  
> Nâthuê kurdu – Daughter of my heart or My Daughter of Heart  
> Amad - mother  
> Melekûnkhûzd - dwobbits  
> Ugmil ’adad - grandfather  
> Namadith - little sister  
> Namad - sister  
> Mizimith - jewel that is young


End file.
